


The Science of Sleep

by chimneythunder



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bandom Big Bang, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 93,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimneythunder/pseuds/chimneythunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 2011 and Frank Iero’s life is pretty average until the night where he starts getting dreams about a strange, apocalyptic California where there’s rayguns, grey corporations and terrorists who use art and colour as a weapon. Interesting and fun at first, but the more he dreams about this world, the more he starts to wonder if it really is a dream... and the deeper he gets into this futuristic world, the more it seems to affect his life in the present day.</p><p>And just how exactly does everything all seem to link in with that douchebag black-haired artist who sits in Starbucks every day?</p><p>(Set in the Danger Days world but not necessarily following the cannon established by the album and music video's.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Bandom Big Bang 2012.
> 
> Don't forget to check out the amazing art and mix's which can be found here -  
> [Art](http://chimneythunder.dreamwidth.org/7408.html)  
> [Mix](http://chimneythunder.dreamwidth.org/7573.html)
> 
> Thank you so much to soundslikej for the art and starsystems for the mix!! :)

It’s somewhat fitting that the day Frank Iero’s life is completely and utterly turned upside down begins as your average day from Hell. 

To start with, he oversleeps. He’s normally pretty punctual at getting himself up and off to work but the night before he happened to fall asleep on the sofa after getting completely absorbed in this new trashy Sci-Fi novel until about 3am. He’s woken up with a massive crick in his neck and his boss yelling at him down the phone, demanding to know where the hell he is. 

Of course, today also happens to be the day that some idiot’s caused a massive pile-up that blocks up the entire road and forces Frank to have to take an alternate route via a nice detour of the backstreets of the city. By the time his car rolls up to the office car park, he’s now not only _incredibly_ fucking late but also completely nicotine and caffeine deprived, having accidentally left his pack of cigarettes at home. He flashes his ID pass to the security guard in the booth at the barrier - thank _Christ_ he remembered his pass - but for some reason, the guard doesn’t raise the barrier for him. 

“Car park’s full,” he says bluntly.

Frank stares at him, momentarily not understanding. 

“Car park’s full,” the guard repeats. “You’ll have to park on the road.”

“You have got to be fucking _kidding_ me. Are you sure there’s not even one space available?!”

“Car park’s full,” the guard says again, and Frank swears to God, if the guy says that one more time he won’t be held accountable for ramming the asshole and his stupid little booth. 

“I can’t park on the road!!” Frank says desperately. “They’ve got clampers!!”

“Try the Mall car park then.” The guard shrugs but he’s clearly enjoying screwing with someone who’s already not having the best day. “It’s about five minutes down the road.”

Frank stares ahead past the barrier at the office car park, full of shining cars. His mind can’t seem to form any decent plan to get him in there, other than simply flooring it and charging the barrier.

“Car park’s full,” the guard repeats and Frank is _definitely_ sure he saw the fucker smirking that time. 

Without another word, Frank shifts into reverse and backs away from the barrier, burning down the road in the direction of the Mall. 

‘Five minutes down the road’ turns out to be a complete and utter lie and despite Frank’s best efforts to sneak past his boss’s office unnoticed, he’s still hauled in for a ten minute chat about the importance of punctuality which ends on “don’t let it happen again, and by the way, your shirt’s on inside out.” This then turns into the “we count ourselves as an open-minded company and we’re really fine with you having visible tattoos, provided you don’t turn up with a swastika on your forehead, but could you please make some attempts at presentation” speech, which Frank is pretty sure his boss likes to practice in the mirror at home specially for Frank. 

The work day doesn’t get any better from there. Frank works in tech support for a corporation that could afford to update their systems to something other than Windows Vista, but frustratingly instead chooses to spend their budget on revamping the company as something ‘hip and modern’ every three months. The computer system crashes about five times, he has to deal with a phone call from a moron who deleted the work he sent them six months ago and to top it off, the coffee machine is broken. 

The only upside to this day is that his fellow tech-support office monkey Bob has a spare pack of cigarettes, which he kindly donates and which Frank burns through in about the space of half an hour.

“You’re not having the best day, are you?” Bob remarks on their break. Frank doesn’t dignify that with an answer; instead, he scowls and takes another deep drag. 

By the time the day ends, Frank is unwashed, exhausted and caffeine deprived. He’s supposed to stay later to make up the time but fuck that, his boss has already left and no one else is around to see how late he stays for. Instead, he waits five minutes after everyone’s gone and then packs up his stuff. 

The office car park is considerably emptier now, mocking him as he walks across it. He doesn’t even want to think about how much parking in the Mall’s car park is going to cost him. As he walks down the road and past the shops, he goes past a Starbucks; the doors are wide open and he can smell the hint of warm coffee on the air, almost as if it’s welcoming him in.

He pauses. He hasn’t had a coffee at all today and his head is starting to hurt slightly from the withdrawal. And, yes, he’s had enough of this day... but he can’t quite bring himself to go home just yet. 

He goes in, purchases the largest latte he can lay his hands on and locates himself on one of the two sofas in the furthest corner of the coffee house. One sofa is already occupied by someone drawing in a sketchbook... ahh great.

A douchey Starbucks artist. 

Frank thinks it might be a girl at first from the long black hair falling over their face but then she glances up at Frank as he sits down and Frank realises she’s actually a very femininely pretty guy. The guy blinks and offers a half-smile at Frank and then is immediately reabsorbed in his sketchbook, because whatever he’s drawing is _clearly_ so fascinating and arty and deep, you know, that the rest of the world has to see him work, displaying his soul in the corner of Starbucks. 

Frank resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he takes a huge mouthful of coffee, letting the delicious, warm flavour rush over his tongue, immediately feeling his body relax. He closes his eyes. Bliss. 

He’s glad that despite his mad morning rush, he had the sense to shove new Sci-Fi book into his bag. Settling down deeper into the sofa, Frank takes another mouthful of glorious coffee and opens his book.

_‘.... and then, I realised was I was staring at. It must be... no... it couldn’t be!! But it was!! The leader himself! He stood majestically before me, wearing a long purple cape, his pale skin glowing in the light...’_

An image, unbidden, flashes through Frank’s mind - a tall, bald man. He’s incredibly pale and the only colour on him is the red that lines his eyes; he looks ill and wearing grey from head to toe only further emphasises that. 

He looks over to Frank and Frank suddenly realises he can see him. This guy can see him and there’s a strange smile on his face, one that seems both friendly and terrifying as fuck at the same time, and Frank finds himself desperately resisting every urge to run away screaming. The guy’s thin lips are moving and in a deep voice – much deeper and stronger than Frank expected –

“Iero? Did it work?”

“What?!” Frank asks.

“Apparently not. Hmm. Try again.” 

Frank’s eyes snap open – wait, when did he close them? He looks around. He’s back in Starbucks. 

Back in Starbucks? He mentally corrects himself. Still in Starbucks... he never left.

His coffee is still on the small table before him, his book resting face down on his lap and Douchey Art-Boy is still next to him, thoroughly engrossed in his sketchbook. Slightly disorientated and on auto-pilot, Frank reaches forwards and grabs his coffee – his delicious, hot coffee –

“BLEUGH!!”

He chokes, nearly spitting it down himself (Douchey Art-Boy looks up in alarm).

His coffee is stone cold. 

He looks around, confused. Did he grab someone else’s old remains by mistake? No, there’s only one mug on the table and that’s his. Did someone change his mug? He looks at his watch –

“What?!” he asks. 

“You’ve been out for about two hours,” Douchey Art-Boy says cheerfully, shooting Frank a wide smile that reveals a row of even but oddly small teeth. “Would’ve woken ya, but... you know. You seemed so peaceful.”

Frank can’t even summon a response. He needs to get home, he can’t believe he fell asleep in public like that... He shoves his book back into his bag and stumbles his way out of Starbucks without a second glance back.

~*~*~

As he drives home, Frank can’t help but ponder the weird little dream he had. Frank’s normally not one for dreaming; generally, he doesn’t remember his dreams when he wakes up, so he’s enjoying having one to analyse to entertain himself on the drive home.

Ominous, scary, bald guy... Frank’s sure if he googles it, there’ll be some psycho-analytical explanation for what it means (like he’s lonely or worried about money or something like that) but he doesn’t want to do that. That’d be too easy and it’d suck the fun right out of the whole thing. 

He tries to think if he’s seen the guy before, or even anyone vaguely like him but draws a blank. He remembers reading somewhere that dreams are just your brain processing what you’ve seen during the day, but Frank’s not sure if he even knows anyone scary and possibly sick. It could have been the alien leader from his book except Frank already had an image in his head of what that dude looked like and it certainly wasn’t the guy from his dream.

He pulls up to a red light, thinking some more. He can’t shake the image from his head. He feels like he’s seen the guy before, like it’s someone significant. Does he even know the guy’s name?

“Course,” he says out loud, without meaning to. 

Woah, what the fuck? Why’s he answering himself?! And does he even know this guy’s name? Of course he does. He just... doesn’t.

Frank’s incredibly confused and excited at the same time, and probably enjoying this far too much to be considered normal – it’s like his subconscious has set his conscious a riddle that he knows he can solve. He’ll just have to be incredibly creative about it. 

A loud honking behind him brings him out of his thoughts. He jumps and floors it away from the lights.

He can’t help it. He knows he’s being silly and looking far too much into an admittedly pitiful dream but he doesn’t care. There’s a weird element of fun to this. After years of slaving away in tech support at a computer, he thought his creativity and imagination had completely dried up. He’s almost looking forward to going to bed because he can’t wait to see what images his brain is going to conjure up next. Maybe it’ll be more to do with the creepy pale guy. 

Yeah, that makes sense, he thinks. Of course it is. Course. 

Wait, what the fuck does that mean?

~*~*~

Frank can’t believe it. It’s 2:06 in the morning.... and he’s wide awake.

He’s done everything possible. He hasn’t had a drop of coffee since he left Starbucks, he had a nice long soak in the shower (using up his entire apartment block’s hot water in the process), he put on his comfiest pyjamas, got in bed with his rubbish Sci-Fi book and...

Nothing. 

He tries lying back, closing his eyes, thinking lovely calming, peaceful thoughts, like sheep and Halloween pumpkins and sheep made of Halloween pumpkins... nope. He tries playing his guitar for a bit... nope. He even jerks off and tries to knock himself out in a post-orgasmic coma... 

It doesn’t work and now he needs a shower. 

Except there’s probably still no hot water so it’d be a freezing cold one that’d probably make him even more alert and awake than he is now, if such a thing was possible. He hasn’t felt this hyper since he was a teenager. 

The bed is too lumpy, he decides, swinging his legs over the edge of it. He wanders around his tiny apartment floor space a few times, willing himself to be sleepy.

“Sleep,” he chants in a low moan. “Sleeeep.... sleeeeeeeep.... sleeeeeeep.... Goddammit Frank, fall a-fucking-sleep!!”

It’s not working and the fact that he can’t sleep is working him up more, pushing away his chances of falling asleep in the next hour even further. He flops down onto the sofa and picks up his book off the table, but he’s too frustrated to read. He’s too frustrated with everything, with his stupid brain for never letting him dream up till now, his stupid body for not letting him sleep to enjoy these new dreams, his stupid job for making him have to be awake in five hours anyway, his stupid boring life where nothing interesting ever happens...

“Iero? Iero?! Iero!!”

Frank’s head jolts forward, his eyes snap open. 

... Oh. 

The bald scary guy is back, standing over him. Frank jumps, shrinks back a bit into his sofa in surprise – except he’s not on his sofa anymore. Or even in his apartment. Or his pyjamas.

“Well?” the bald guy asks expectantly, not giving him time to digest this. Frank blinks a few times, trying to make sense. Fuck, this is like one of those high school dreams where you’re asked a question in class and you don’t know any of the answers. Frank struggles to sit up but then realises he’s actually tied down to the surface he’s on.

“Well what?” Frank asks, stalling for time and squinting. This room is so bright, though that could be something to do with the large light above his head that’s shining directly into his eyes. He tries to see past the light but can only make out plain grey walls of a moderately sized room. There’s a strange kind of whirring noise behind his head, just out sight, like the sound a computer makes when it overheats. 

The guy stares at Frank, completely emotionless. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, as if it’s obvious.

“Oh! Right...”

‘Fucking weird’? Can he say that? Can he be honest and say he’s a little bit freaked out, considering one second he was in his tiny crappy dark apartment and the next, he’s strapped to what feels like a dentist’s chair with what looks like Richard O’Brian’s creepier cousin about three inches from his face?

“A bit odd,” Frank settles for. It’s a dream, right? So the best course of action would be to just go with it. “My head feels a bit woozy.”

The guy nods. “Expected,” he says. “That’s from the sedative.”

Sedative? What kind of fucked-up dream is this?!

As the guy moves, something on his chest catches the light. Through the glare of the lights above him, Frank can see it’s an ID tag. He squints, trying to see the name on it...

“Other than the physical sensations though, how do you feel?” 

“Fine,” Frank answers, without trying to make it too obvious what he’s doing. 

The guy says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. 

Shit. Wrong answer?

“Yeah... you know. Not elatedly happy, not suicidally sad. Just... fine.” 

There’s some large writing at the top of the guy’s badge that says ’BL/Ind’ next to a smiley face and a picture of the guy. Is this guy blind?! Does he have to wear a badge that warns people of this? 

And then, Frank sees the name written underneath – Korse.

Ah. Korse. Of course. Frank winces; only his brain would come up with a pun as lame as that. 

Meanwhile, Korse is frowning.

“Well... that’s disappointing.”

He doesn’t say it but the implication that Frank’s failed him in some way is blatant. Korse sighs heavily, then shrugs, reaching over and untying the thick, black plastic straps that bind Frank to the chair. All the time he’s doing this, he doesn’t say anything and the silence makes Frank feel uneasy to the point of his skin itching. 

Up close, the red around Korse’s eyes is especially noticeable. His white skin seems to radiate coldness. Everything is so wrong, so weird that Frank knows he’s dreaming.... but are dreams supposed to be this coherent? Shouldn’t there be an elephant dancing in the corner or something?

Then again, Frank doesn’t exactly have much to go on regarding what a “normal” dream is supposed to be like. For all he knows, Bob could have the exact same dream about being tied to a chair by a bald white guy too (although Frank hopes not because that’s just disturbing on all kinds of levels). 

When the last restraint is free, Frank sits up—

Hang on, why the fuck was he strapped down to begin with?!

He freezes, mid-rise, as this disturbing thought occurs to him. Has he just joined in on the aftermath of a sex dream?! 

“Iero.”

Korse says his name, but it’s not a question or a concern. There’s authority in Korse’s voice and in everything he says to Frank, like _‘If there’s something you’re not telling me, you’d better tell me now, asshole, or I’m going to do horrible things to you.’_

Although, thinking about it, Frank doubts Korse would use the word ‘asshole.’ He doesn’t seem the type. 

Frank gives his head a small shake and pretends to be interested in brushing down his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles from where they were crushed. He briefly wonders why he’s wearing a grey suit – and are those leather gloves he’s got on?! 20 years of being vegetarian scream out in protest - but then his attention is immediately seized by the realisation that he’s got an ID badge clipped to the front of his shirt too. It’s identical to the one Korse has one, right down to how it has BL/Ind stamped across the top (except it’s got Frank’s name and picture on it, obviously). 

Huh. So... him and this Korse guy are... work buddies?

Probably not. Frank would never be “buddies” with anyone this creepy, dream or not. Korse doesn’t seem to be the social butterfly type either.

He looks at his ID again. So BL/Ind is apparently the company name. That makes sense... or it probably would if Frank could figure out what the hell it stood for. He looks up from his ID tag but Korse isn’t even looking at him anymore; he’s staring off into space, completely distracted. 

Frank clears his throat nervously. Very slowly, and very controlled, Korse turns his head to look at him. The moment is unnaturally smooth and perfect, almost robotic.

“So... uh... what should I do?” Frank stammers. 

He wants to run. He wants to be as far away from this creepy-ass fucker, this creepy-ass room and... well, maybe even this creepy-ass dream. 

“Oh... You might as well go back. Take lunch.”

Korse clearly doesn’t care but he’s gesturing to the door, and that’s all the prompting Frank needs. He slides off the chair and he’s even halfway out the glass door that slides open as he approaches it when he makes the mistake of looking back. Korse is still staring blankly at the space Frank’s just left, lost in his own thoughts. The shadows throw the contours of his face into sharp relief, highlighting just how... _emaciated_ he looks, there’s no other word for it. 

Frank’s not really bothered about the shadows or how sick Korse looks – he couldn’t give a flying fuck about what could possibly be wrong with the man – as he’s a tiny bit more distracted by the fuck-off-scary giant machine he didn’t see before, located behind the chair he was strapped to. Computers line the walls that surround it, screens flashing with lines of text, and what looks like maps and buttons and scroll wheels on every surface that isn’t a screen. As for the machine, like the walls, it’s white; a more brilliant white, the kind of white that just screams how high-tech this piece of equipment is. It looks like a giant MRI machine, with a round tunnel in the middle of it, large enough for one person to fit in –

Fucking hell, was Frank supposed to go in that?!

Aside from the computers, there’s only one more thing on the walls in this room – a logo and a motto, painted ominously above the MRI-thing machine.

** KEEP SMILING. **

**BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES – THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY.**

Forget dreams. Frank’s officially in a nightmare.

~*~*~

The door out the weird MRI-room leads to... a long corridor. Slightly anti-climatic there, but Frank’s willing to take anything over being back in there. The door behind him smoothly slides shut, revealing the big bold letters on it that proudly display “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ Unit –Testing Room 6.” Naturally, this makes absolutely no sense to Frank and he’s seriously starting to wonder what dark, hidden parts of his brain he’s conjuring all this from.

He looks down the deserted corridor both ways but there are no clues or helpful signs saying ‘Exit, this way!’ or ‘Go HERE, Frankie!’ 

Delicately, he reaches out and brushes his fingers across the surface of the opposite wall - solid, a bit rough and lumpy, not freezing cold, not warm either. It feels exactly like a wall should, which is a bit...

Surprising? Shouldn’t the walls be at least slightly moving in a dream? Or talking? 

Disappointing? Frank was hoping the talking walls would have told him where he was supposed to go next. 

Strange? Are dreams supposed to be this real? The walls are painted white and the carpet is grey, but the colour’s muted, like you’d find in any normal boring office building. It’s not the brilliant, blinding colours like in a science-fiction movie... if anything, it’s more like the corridors at his office in reality. 

Confusing? Yes. Confusing. Frank likes confusing. Although there might be some irritation mixed in there too, because seriously, what kind of useless dream is this if it doesn’t even give him some pointer as to where he’s supposed to –

“Ray?!” 

The name slips out from Frank’s mouth before he can stop himself and the guy who’s just happened to be passing across one end of the corridor stops dead in his tracks. 

“Ray Toro??” Frank asks in disbelief, walking towards the guy. The guy turns to look at him and OK, now Frank _knows_ he’s dreaming. 

Frank went to High School with Ray Toro back in Jersey. Their families already knew each other and him and Ray would often bump into each other at community gatherings and barbeques. He hasn’t seen Ray for years though, let along thought about him (or had him pop up in some weird-ass dream before)... and yet, here he is. 

He looks pretty much exactly the same, although Frank’s subconscious has clearly decided to carry on with the whole ‘freakishly real realism’ thing and aged the guy up accordingly, adding faint lines around his face and shedding the teenage puppy fat. His hair, which Frank remembers as always being an out-of-control afro of curls is tied back in a short pony tail, but the loose frizz escaping shows it’s still the same. Like Frank, Ray’s wearing a dull-grey suit with an ID badge on his chest catching the light. 

“Ray, man, what the fuck are you doing here??” Frank asks cheerfully as he approaches. He’s so happy to see a familiar face, fuck, even just another person that he doesn’t notice the look of utter panic on Ray’s face until he’s standing about a foot away from him.

“Frank?” Ray asks quietly. He licks his lips and his eyes are darting up and down the corridor, going from Frank to the only other door in the corridor.

“The one and only,” Frank says with a grin. “Are you ok? You seem a bit spooked!”

Frank wonders if this is going to be one of those dreams where everyone is acting strange around you, and then you look down and realise you’re actually naked and have a monster instead of a penis.

“There was a rumour – I mean, I’d heard that you were – that Scarecrow were possibly testing some new weapon today,” Ray mumbles. “I wanted to see if... if I could be of any use.”

Frank wants to clap his hands together in glee; Ray’s even still got all the same mannerisms down!! This is exactly how he’d act whenever they got caught by a teacher at school for doing something they shouldn’t have, like smoking behind the science lab or skipping class by hiding underneath the bleachers! This is so awesome! 

And man, he suddenly misses Ray Toro. Ray was a good friend at school, he was a bit quiet but he was funny and the guy seriously knew how to play guitar. They used to jam together after school in their bedrooms, talking about forming a band and changing the world but then college happened and their lives went off in different directions, although Frank’s pretty sure his mom still keeps in touch with Ray’s mom via the occasional phone calls and coffee mornings. 

Maybe he should get back in touch when he wakes up... Hey, maybe that’s what this dream is about?

“Frank?” Ray asks, looking at him nervously. “Are you going to report me?”

Ah right, yes. Answer when people talk to you.

“Nah,” Frank snorts, waving his hand. “Hey, you were just trying to help!”

Ray blinks. There’s a very weird, awkward vibe in the air that Frank can’t quite put his finger on. 

“Oh. Right. OK, well, I’ll just be off then.”

Ray’s already about halfway down the corridor before he’s finished speaking. 

“Hey wait!” Frank calls. 

Ray freezes. 

Frank’s not an idiot. He knows when someone’s trying to avoid him, but maybe Ray can help him here? Maybe Ray’s meant to be the tech support of this dream? 

“Are you doing anything? Like, now?” Frank asks. “I’m on lunch – you wanna go grab a bite?”

He says this as friendly as possible but Ray now just looks terrified. 

Fuck. 

“It’s cool if not!!” Frank says hastily. “I can just-”

“No, it’s ok,” Ray interrupts. “I just... I...”

He trails off, looking down the corridor behind Frank. There’s no missing how his eyes focus on Testing Room 6. 

“Never mind,” Ray says, finally meeting Frank’s eyes. “Let’s go.”

~*~*~

As he doesn’t have a clue where he’s going, Frank lets Ray lead the way. He’s hoping Ray’s going to lead him somewhere cool but as they step out of the elevator, Frank feels his heart sink at the sheer normality of what is very obviously the office canteen. There are several people dotted around various tables and a low hum of conversation in the air as Ray silently walks towards an empty seat. Frank slides in the seat opposite him and watches for a few tense moments as Ray roots around his band and produces a sandwich.

“You not eating?” Ray asks, unwrapping his food.

Shit. Frank looks over where there’s a line of people buying food at vending machines, but he doesn’t have his wallet. 

“Not hungry,” he says with a pained smile. It’s half-true anyway. 

“Huh,” Ray says simply and takes a mouthful of his sandwich.

Frank notices Ray’s eyes dart to his arm. When Frank follows his gaze and looks down, he sees that he’s got a strange patch sewn just below his shoulder; a white square with a black X in the middle. It stands out boldly against the grey material. His stomach inexplicably clenches; he’s reminded of army officers, displaying their ranks on their arms. He looks over at Ray but Ray doesn’t have a patch. 

Right. So maybe here, Frank’s like middle-management and Ray’s just clerical work or something. That might explain why Ray’s being so edgy. 

Awkward silence falls between them as Ray chews slowly on his sandwich. Frank can feel his hands starting to sweat horribly under the grey gloves he’s wearing. He wants to take them off but there’s some strange tiny instinctual voice inside of him screaming that he mustn’t take his gloves off, whatever the cost. 

Tattoos, Frank suddenly realises. Of course. He’s hiding his tattoos... but fucker, he’s pretty sure these gloves are leather. Perhaps this is his brain trying to get back at him for all those years of vegetarianism?

Frank officially hates his subconscious.

“Those look well-used,” Ray remarks coolly, nodding at Frank’s gloves. “Hey, is that a burn?!”

Frank looks down. Sure enough, there are dark marks along his index fingers and knuckles where the leather is singed. How the hell did he do that?!

“You’ll be needing some new ones soon. Why you wearing them anyway?”

“Gloves are cool,” Frank says, waggling his fingers. “Don’t you remember the ones I wore throughout high school?”

“The ones with the bones on? You lived in those things!”

“Yeah, I’d wear them here but I don’t quite think they’d go with the dress code and all,” Frank says with a grimace, looking around. Seriously, everybody is wearing varying shades of grey.

Ray snorts. “You’d end up being mistaken for a Zone Rat or something!”

Frank laughs. “Probably!”

... What the fuck is a Zone Rat? 

Ray takes another bite of his sandwich and the conversation lulls but the silence seems a bit more relaxed this time.

“So...” Ray swallows his mouthful then asks hesitantly, “how have you been?”

Frank shrugs. “Alright. Can’t complain, I guess. What about you? What have you been doing with yourself?” 

Ray shrugs, a half-smile forming on his face. “Oh you know, the routine. Get up, take pills, come to work, go home, sleep, repeat.”

“Repeat till death or insanity kicks in,” Frank adds, making Ray chuckle. 

There's a pause and then -

“It’s... it’s good to see you, Frank,” Ray says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing OK.”

There’s something in Ray’s tone that catches Frank’s attention. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, something like true sincerity but also a hint of sadness.

“Yeah man, you too,” Frank says. Ray smiles and perhaps it’s Frank’s imagination (actually, there’s no “perhaps” about it seeing as this is a dream and all) but Ray seems to have gotten a bit warmer towards Frank.

“So,” Ray says carefully after a pause. “There’s a rumour going round... I mean... uh... never mind.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just... actually, no forget it.”

“Dude, you did this all the time at school! Just spit it out!” Frank’s curious now. 

“Well, it’s just something someone was saying down in tech support and you know how things are...”

“Yeah,” Frank says slowly. “Seriously, this place seems to run on gossip.”

Much like his office back home, he thinks. Not a day goes by without Frank overhearing about who’s cheating on who and who’s laundering money out the office. He generally tries to keep his head down and not get into things. Office politics are never worth getting mixed up in.

“Well...” Ray looks around to make sure no one’s listening then leans in. “People are saying that you had a run in with fungal last night.”

Frank blinks. Now he’s screwed. 

“Surely it’s not polite to discuss whether someone’s got an infection or not,” he says, trying to keep the tone light. However, that was clearly the wrong thing to say because Ray now just looks genuinely confused.

“What?” Ray shakes his head. “No no, not fungal! Fun Ghoul! Fun! Ghoul!” 

Frank can’t keep with up this dream. Why does everything here have to be a stupid play on words?! 

He still looks completely lost because Ray then adds “You know, one of the Killjoys working with Party Poison?” which doesn’t help at all because Frank’s not even sure if half of that was English.

Mercifully, he’s spared from answering by a shadow falling across his table. Ray shrinks back and immediately tries to look interested in his sandwich.

“I was wondering where you’d got to,” Korse says, looking down at Frank, his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Your lunch ended five minutes ago.”

“Shit, sorry, forgot the time,” Frank babbles, hastily getting to his feet. Korse is clearly his boss or superior, or something like that. Great. “I’ll see you around Ray.”

Ray gives him a quick nod, looking very much like a terrified bunny in the headlights of a steamroller. Frank’s relieved slightly; at least this means it’s not just him who’s freaked out by Korse.

~*~*~

“I’m impressed, Iero,” Korse says in a monotone as they walk down yet another boring corridor. “Already integrating yourself and gaining trust, that’s showing initiative.”

Frank has no idea if this is a good thing or not, let alone what Korse is on about.

“So, I take it you read the PP Files then?” 

Frank shrugs as they pass a short woman who stares at the ground as they go by. “I skimmed them.”

Korse nods. “Read them properly, you’re going to need all the information you can get. He’s getting bolder these past few weeks and after last night, he’s probably going to try something dramatic in the next few days.”

Wait... last night? Didn’t Ray say Frank was supposed to have had a run in with the Fun Ghoul last night? 

Is Fun Ghoul a person?!

“While we're on the subject, I read your report on the incident with Fun Ghoul yesterday,” Korse adds as they go by a young man who tries to flatten himself into the wall to let them past. “Riveting reading. You’ll do well from this, Iero.”

Frank makes a mental note of his new reading list; The PP Files (whatever the fuck they are) and his own report on whatever the incident with Fun Ghoul was.

“I spoke to the engineers while you were at lunch, they said your bike should be fixed within the next month. What are you doing for a vehicle until then?”

A bike? He has a bike here? He hasn’t ridden a motorbike since his early 20’s, let alone known that he has one that doesn’t work.

“I’m... working on it.”

Korse shakes his head. “I’ve arranged for you to have a company car chauffer you to and from work. For now, I’m putting you on desk work until your bike’s fixed. You’re no good to anyone without it and I’m not giving those Zone Rats any more opportunities to steal more Better Living equipment.”

There’s that phrase again; Zone Rat. Frank adds ‘look up what a Zone Rat is’ to his to-do list. Korse stops in front of a door and punches in a door code, and fuck, Frank really hopes he doesn’t have to go through any doors by himself because he really doesn’t have a clue what the codes are. They go into a large room filled with electrical equipment and Korse stops next to an empty chair in front of one of the monitors. He doesn’t say anything but Frank immediately knows he’s supposed to sit in it. 

“You’re on classified reports until you’re back on duty,” Korse says with a gesture to a large pile of yellow folders on the desk next to Frank. “Get these logged before you finish tonight and shred them when they’re done.” 

Frank looks up with wide eyes at the large pile of folders that towers above his head. He turns to ask Korse what he’s supposed to do – but the door to the room is already sliding shut and Frank realises he’s quite alone. 

_Fuck. Fuck. FUCK._

For a few seconds, Frank sits there in silence, the unmistakable feeling of panic welling up inside his chest. So this is one of those “fear of failure” dreams, like being forced to sit an exam at school that you know nothing about? 

He looks at the monitors and keyboards in front of him. It all seems incredibly complicated – for God’s sake, there are three screens! Who the fuck needs three screens? Underneath the screens, there’s a keyboard which has a complicated amount of keys, although on closer inspection Frank realises that middle keys are normal letters, but he still has no idea what the weird symbols on the billion that surround them are for though. There’s a roller ball embedded into the table to his right and when he gently nudges it, the screens blink and flicker to life. 

“ENTER AUTHORISATION” is now stamped across the middle screen in giant black print. 

Frank thinks about it, then hesitantly types his name in.

“ENTER PASSWORD” comes up next.

Well, shit. 

Unless... would his password be the same here? Even though it’s a massive security risk, he uses the same one for everything; work, banking, websites, email, even iTunes. He can’t be bothered to create different ones because he’ll inevitably forget them if they get too complicated.

He types in his usual password (PUMPKINWORM123) and crosses his fingers. 

Much to his surprise, it works. 

An oddly familiar screen is now before him; it bears a vague resemblance to the one he uses in his day to day life at work for data input logging. Frank steals a glance at the massive pile of folders to his left and then back to the door. This might all still just be a dream but he doesn’t want to find out how terrifying his subconscious could make Korse be if he doesn’t complete the work. 

He takes the top folder from the pile and opens it, cautiously looking inside. Familiar looking documents are inside, and sure, it says “BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES” instead of his company name in the usual place and there’s a few sections on the page that he has no idea what they mean – what the fuck is ‘propaganda colours’?! - but surely it’s better to try than not?

He takes a deep breath, gulps nervously, and starts typing.

~*~*~

Frank’s not sure how long passes. Once he settles into a routine of logging the paperwork, he starts to breeze through it quickly. He’s completely on edge the whole time though, terrified he’s doing it wrong or that at any second, Korse is going to come screaming through the door, and perhaps even with Frank’s mother and several of his ex boyfriends for good measure.

When Korse inevitably does return though, it’s in a very calm way. The door slides open just as Frank is shredding the last folder and Korse nods, satisfied. 

“The door codes for this floor have changed again,” he says without preamble. “2160. After your incident yesterday, we’re not running any risks.” 

“2160,” Frank repeats. “Got it.” Pause. “What risks would those be exactly?”

Korse stares at him, one eyebrow arched. “You, Iero, for one. After what happened with Fun Ghoul, you’re probably quite high on several hit lists.”

Frank feels his eyes widen. He doesn’t try to hide it. 

“Oh,” he manages in a small voice. “That’s... nice.” He pulls uncertainly at the high-necked collar which suddenly feels like it’s choking him. “OK, well, I’m just gonna be off-”

“Yes, the company car is waiting for you in the car park. I’ve arranged for them to pick you up in the morning at 6:30.”

There’s no question if Frank’s cool with how Korse is completely directing his life. Frank has a feeling he’s not allowed any say in the matter. 

Korse gives Frank another nod, his dark eyes fixed on Frank. Frank’s already on his feet and heading for the door. He has no idea how to close down the computer or log it off but he doesn’t really care.

“Iero...”

Frank freezes. 

“Yes?” 

“I noticed you’ve still got some tattoos on your neck. You know they’re not part of Better Living Industry policy.”

Not sure how to respond to that, Frank turns around and tries not to sweat too much.

“I’ve been meaning to get them removed,” he lies. “Just haven’t had the time... plus, you know... already had a fair amount to get rid of already.”

Korse nods, apparently believing this. “Be sure you do. And soon. It gives the wrong idea otherwise.”

Great, Frank thinks. Even in a dream world, he’s still seen as a fucking freak show for his tattoos. He makes a mental note to buy as many high-necked shirts as he can... or maybe even magic them up, seeing as this is a dream and all. Whatever works, really. If he’s not getting rid of his tattoos in the real world, he sure as shit ain’t getting rid of them in a world he’s made up inside his own head.

~*~*~

Frank’s not sure what he was hoping his apartment to be like in this dream... maybe something amazingly high-tech or luxurious. After a very uneventful ride home in which the driver said a grand total of zero words, Frank finds himself in a building and, miraculously, the keys he needs are suddenly in his pocket, like they’ve been there all day and he hasn’t realised until now.

Even more conveniently, there’s an apartment number on the keys – 31. This makes locating his apartment incredibly easy and as he tries his keys in door of number 31 and it swings open to reveal...

An apartment exactly the same as Frank’s real one.

“Oh.”

The sound of disappointment is far too evident, even to Frank. 

Oh well, he reasons. At least he knows where everything is. 

He flicks on the light switch and shuts the door behind him, looking around. So maybe it’s not exactly the same; everything seems a bit blander with the furniture, there’s none of Frank’s pictures or posters on the walls, the book case is gone and the monochromatic colour scheme from work seems to be a heavy influence here too. Other than that though, it’s the exact same layout. 

Sighing heavily, Frank collapses onto the sofa. He’s exhausted; this dream feels far too much a normal day at work.

Where’s the fun stuff? Where’s the weird stuff?

... And where the fuck is the colour?

He pulls off one of his leather gloves, the cool air against his skin feeling instantly refreshing. His familiar tattoos are still there, which is a relief. 

With another sigh, he leans his head back and closes his eyes, trying to process things. If things could just be a bit more odd, a bit less normal, it might be easier to understand...

A loud buzzing fills his ears and he opens his eyes.

The colour is the first thing he notices. The white walls are now a warm cream. Faded movie posters are tacked on the walls, peeling at the corners. The sunlight streams through the window, dust mites swirling in the air. The bookshelf is back, multicoloured paperbacks crammed onto the shelves. 

He’s still on the sofa.

He’s awake.

He’s home.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite everything, Frank manages to get himself together and out his flat by 8am. He only burns his tongue once on his coffee and even manages to pull out one of his darker work shirts that his tattoos don’t show through as clearly. 

He resists the urge to write everything about his dream down in minute detail (“sorry I’m late, I had this _amazing_ dream and I needed to write it down” probably won’t cut it as an acceptable excuse, especially after yesterday) and settles for scribbling down random key words on the nearest thing to hand, which happens to be the title page in his new book. 

Thankfully, he’s never been too particular about keeping his books in pristine condition. 

The drive to work is uneventful; he gets through three cigarettes and drives on auto pilot as his brain lingers on the dream. He can still remember it all so vividly, from the feel of the leather gloves encasing his hands to the look of fear in Ray’s eyes...

“What the fuck??” 

The words shoot of Frank’s mouth as he pulls up to the car park barrier... which is down. With a massive sign on it saying “CLOSED.” 

He checks his watch. Nope, on time. 

The miserable security guard from yesterday is there again too, grinning. 

“You can’t tell me the car park’s full already!!” Frank cries. 

“Car park’s closed,” the guard says. 

“I can see that!! Why?!”

“Refurb work. Didn’t you get the email?”

Frank vaguely remembers seeing an email pop up in his inbox yesterday, three minutes before he was due to go home. 

Fuck. 

Ignoring the temptation to ram the miserable Car Park Goblin’s booth, Frank pulls the car gear stick into reverse and speeds off down the road to the main mall car park he used yesterday. As he does, he briefly thinks that it’s a shame he doesn’t have the chauffer Korse hired here. 

The rest of his day goes as normal. He slips into the usual routine of office life, completing his tasks, idly listening the gossip around the office and then discussing with Bob on their cigarette break how bitchy everyone is. After lunch, when he’s sure his boss isn’t lurking, he opens up the internet and pulls up Google. He hesitates for a second, debating about what to type. Eventually, he settles on Dream meanings, working in an office. 

Much to his surprise, there are several results. He clicks on the first one. 

_“Offices. Places of security and order. Depending on the state of the office in the dream, it could be your subconscious telling you to be more organised. If you find yourself dreaming about your work office, it indicates you cannot seem to leave your work at the office; you are overworked and need to get away – perhaps a holiday is due.”_

Frank sighs. Figures. 

Really, it’s no surprise that his dream last night was so fucking boring. If your dreams are meant to be your subconscious dealing with your real life and there’s nothing interesting going on there, then how is your made-up world supposed be inspired?

~*~*~

Douchey Art-Boy is back in Starbucks, deeply engrossed in his sketchbook again.

Frank frowns and heads for a table as far away from him as possible. He wasn’t going to go for another coffee after work but there was something about the warm lights and the gentle, familiar aroma of coffee wafting out the door that pulled him in before he could question his feet. 

Not that he’s complaining though. He’s got his book in his bag and a change of scenery is always nice. 

He settles himself down on the wooden chair and shrugs off his jacket, and as he does, Douchey Art-Boy happens to look up and catch his eye. He grins and nods at Frank, and for one horrible second, Frank thinks he’s going to try and talk to him, but instead he goes back to drawing. 

Huh. 

Frank gives his head a small shake and looks down at his battered book. His notes from this morning are scribbled over the blank page. 

_Korse. Better Living. Ray. Zone Rat? Fun Ghoul?? 2160. PP Files? ... I read too much scifi._

He looks at his handwriting and takes a mouthful of coffee thoughtfully. It’s a shame he didn’t get to see what the PP Files were supposed to be about, they sounded interesting. Ditto for Fun Ghoul. 

“Wait, Fun Ghoul?”

He murmurs it quietly to himself, and then he realises. He snorts and grabs his pencil, crossing out the question marks after Fun Ghoul. 

_Fun Ghoul – Italian phonetics - sounds like FUCK YOU._

Of course. Everything else was a play on words, this one just happened to be in Italian! He chuckles under his breath, suddenly thankful for his Italian heritage and being forced to learn the language to speak to his relatives. How awesome though; a bad guy with a subtly insulting name!

That said, he still has no idea what a Zone Rat is supposed to be. 

He sips at his coffee and idly draws a smiley face underneath Fun Ghoul’s name. He crosses out one of the eyes and gives a jagged zig-zag for a mouth. 

Motherfucking Fun Ghoul, indeed.

~*~*~

The alarm goes off and Frank shoots bolt upright like he’s been electrocuted. It felt like he’d only just closed his eyes... Scratching his head, he goes to pull the covers off his body and then realises he’s on the sofa.

“Huh?” he says with all the morning eloquence. He doesn’t remember falling asleep there last night... He shrugs it off and heads to the kitchen. He feels unusually awake and alert as he sets up the coffee machine, scooping out his usual four scoops from their red tin –

Wait. White tin?

Frank stares at the tin in his hands. It’s definitely white now and it was definitely red when he made coffee yesterday. He turns it over, looking at the label; there’s a black smiley face that stands out vividly against the white paper with the word “COFFEE” stamped underneath. He’s never even seen this brand before in his life, let alone bought it. 

He opens his cupboard and his eyes widen. Every food item he had inside there has been replaced with rows of white tins with the same black smiley face and simplistic descriptions of the contents. 

Frank slams the cupboard door shut and runs back into the living room, properly looking at it this time. All his pictures and posters are gone from the white walls. His overstocked bookcase and laptop are missing and his furniture’s been replaced with a grey sofa and small white table. 

Frank grips at the doorframe, the entire world seeming to tilt underneath him. It’s... this is impossible. 

And yet, here he is. His flat, exactly the same as it was in his dream last night.

Which means he’s dreaming now. 

He pinches his arm.

“OUCH!” 

How the hell do you not realise you’re dreaming?!

“Come Iero, wake up,” he mutters, taking deep breaths. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck??” 

He staggers over to his sofa and sinks down on it heavily. It’s uncomfortably hard and... very real. 

Fuck.

“OK, OK, let’s think this one through,” he says to himself, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers against his temples. “I am dreaming. I know this because this is not my flat. Therefore, I just need to proceed as I am supposed to in a dream.” 

He opens his eyes and looks at the white table in front of him. The grey leather gloves from the last dream are there and next to them are some light grey files that he didn’t notice before. 

“These will tell me what I’m supposed to do,” he says decisively, reaching for near nearest one that has _PP FILE #1_ stamped on the cover.

Wait, these are the PP Files?? Frank stares at the writing, trying to will it to say something – _anything_ \- else. They’re not supposed to be here. Dreams aren’t supposed to have continuity, not in the same way that real life and TV shows do anyway! Sure, there are reoccurring themes and all but he’s never heard of anyone having a dream, waking up, falling back asleep and the dream picking up exactly where it left off! 

All the excitement that Frank felt last night is most definitely not happening tonight. If anything, it’s getting a bit freaky. Frank hasn’t got much to go on from previous but he’s certain dreams are not meant to go like this. 

A thought suddenly occurs; if this dream is a continuation of last night, does that mean that the driver Korse ordered is still coming? 

As if on cue, his doorbell goes off. 

Panicked, he looks down at his clothes but he’s already dressed... because didn’t he fall asleep in his clothes in last night’s dream?

Trying not to think about this, he grabs the remaining PP Files off the table and is halfway to the door when he remembers his gloves. He runs back and pulls them on, hoping that he won’t have to deal with Korse again. This dream-stuff is freaky enough without him. 

The same black car that dropped him off yesterday is waiting on road outside his apartment building. There are many people, all dressed in the same kind of dull grey suits, walking on the pavement in the same direction but they’re giving a wide berth to the car... and Frank himself too. No one meets his eyes yet they all seem to be aware enough of Frank to go out their way to avoid him. 

One woman happens to glance up at the wrong moment and Frank offers a smile. Her lips twitch but then she looks the black X still prominently displayed on Frank’s arm and immediately stares back down at the pavement. Frank’s stomach clenches and his fingers automatically tighten on the PP Files he’s holding facedown to his chest. No one else around him has this kind of marking on their arm. 

And - wait a second, something isn’t right. 

This crowd of people walking are all clearly going to work... but no one’s talking. There’s general background noise like cars in the distance and footsteps against the pavements but the people walk in silence. Everyone stares straight ahead with blank expressions like they’re completely mindless. Back in reality, even though Frank drives himself in to work, he’s seen the morning commute on public transport and it’s _nothing_ like this.

The car journey to work is the same as the one yesterday. The driver says nothing and makes no attempt to. Frank tries to catch a glimpse of the guy’s face but he’s wearing some kind of tight-fitting white hood and never turns around once. When Frank gets out in the car park at Better Living Industries, the car drives off the moment Frank closes the door. 

“Have a good day to you too, buddy,” he mutters. 

He takes a moment to properly look at the main building as he walks in. It looks exactly like every other office building except for –

Frank stops dead. The same smiley face that was stamped over all the tins in his apartment is projected on the front of the building. Even in the dull morning light, it glows slightly. If it was supposed to be the company’s attempt at a friendly reassuring mascot, then whoever designed it failed horribly. There’s something about the expression that isn’t quite right. The smile is too perfect and it feels like the eyes are staring directly at Frank... right into him... like they’re watching him. 

No one entering the building is looking up at the face. Perhaps the face is why they all walk staring at the ground. With a shrug, he follows the crowds inside, determinedly not looking back up at the logo.

~*~*~

He finds the room he was in with minimal difficulty. The door code is still 2160 (he tries punching in a random sequence of numbers in the hope that the door will open but reality sticks firmly and the door refuses to open until he puts in the correct code) and there’s already a fresh pile of folders stacked neatly on the desk, waiting for him. Frank sits down and logs into the computer system automatically, exactly the same as he would in his normal life and continues as he did last night, logging the paperwork into the computer.

As the hours tick by, Frank starts to settle into the routine. Sure, the computer’s a bit more futuristically high-tech and less prone to crashing than what he’s used to but the task is fundamentally the same as what he does every day at work... which is really fucking lame when he thinks about it. What was it that dream website had said? _“If you find yourself dreaming about your work office, it indicates you cannot seem to leave your work at the office.”_

He’s half tempted to stand up and quit or refuse to do this stupid task but doing that runs the risk of bringing Korse into things, and... well. Frank’s not going to lie; Korse is clearly from the part of his subconscious where his deepest fears of authority figures are hiding. 

The pile of work is getting smaller and by the time lunch rolls around, he’s finished the last one. As he pushes the folder through the shredder, he feels a small sense of smug accomplishment - dream or not, it’s still nice to get things done. Frank looks at his watch and his stomach lets out a loud grumble. 

Surely the creepy, omniscient corporation can’t take offense to its employers being hungry? 

He shrugs. One way to find out. 

He remembers to grab the PP Files before he leaves the room. He still hasn’t had a chance to read them but something also tells him not to leave these files lying around. 

Even without Ray Toro’s assistance, the canteen is relatively easy to locate. The grey-clad office workers in the corridors all seem to be heading in the same direction so Frank goes with the flow, hoping for the best. It pays off and soon enough, Frank finds himself in a queue for a white vending machine with that all-too-familiar smiling face stamped on the front. He hasn’t got any money on him, but he watches the person in front of him carefully as they order; they swipe their ID card in a slot and then select what they want. When it’s his turn, Frank copies them carefully. On the small display screen on the front of the machine, his name flashes up with a number next to it. 

“FRANK IERO – 30 CREDITS” 

He looks at the options available to order but he can’t make any sense of it. Instead of labels for snacks, there are four simple pictures and numbers. There’s a triangle that’s presumably meant to be a sandwich (but with no clue to its filling) and a 3, a bottle and a 20, a cup and a 2, and what looks like a pill with a 0. 

Frank presses the button with the cup, hoping it’s coffee. The vending machine whirrs and produces a white cup with the usual smiling face stamped on it, filled to the brim with steaming black liquid. As he picks it up, the display screen’s message changes. 

“FRANK IERO – 28 CREDITS REMAINING. HAVE A BETTER DAY.”

Clutching his drink in one hand and the PP Files under the other, he makes his way across the canteen to one of the empty tables. There’s a low hum of general conversation in the air which is a relief after the deathly silence of the morning commute. He sits down, takes a sip of his drink and winces; it’s coffee, alright, but it’s disgustingly weak. 

Grimacing, he swallows and opens the first page of the PP Files. 

The first page is a character profile sheet. There’s a photo clipped to the top right-hand corner of a man’s face; a red X is stamped over it and covering his eyes is a black bar that proclaims the statement “EXTERMINATE.” 

Frank swallows another mouthful of coffee. Exterminate? That can’t be good. He reads on. 

_Name: --CLASSIFIED--_  
 _Alias: PARTY POISON_  
 _Gender: M_  
 _Age: --CLASSIFIED—_  
 _D/O/B: --CLASSIFIED—_  
 _Height: aprox. 5ft9_  
 _Weight: aprox. 150lbs_  
 _Ethnicity: WHITE/CAUCASIAN_  
 _Hair: RED – DYED (Original colour - dark brown)_  
 _Eyes: HAZEL_  
 _Distinguishing marks/scars etc: NONE KNOWN AT PRESENT. ALWAYS SEEN WEARING THE SAME DISTINCTIVE BLUE LEATHER JACKET AND YELLOW MASK (further detailed description and picture on Pg 3)._  
Location: BELIEVED TO BE RESIDING IN ZONE 6. HOWEVER, HAS BEEN SIGHTED THROUGHOUT ALL OF THE ZONES AND IN BATTERY CITY SEVERAL TIMES.  
 _Family: --CLASSFIED—_  
 _Known Associates: DR DEATH DEFYING. KOBRA KID. DJ HOT CHIMP._  
 _Suspected Associates: SHOW PONY. FUN GHOUL. AGENT CHERRI COLA. NEWS A GOGO. ALSO SUSPECTED TO HAVE SEVERAL AS-OF-YET-UNIDENTIFIED CONTACTS WITHIN THE CITY._

Frank blinks with a jolt of recognition. There it is, that name again. Fun Ghoul. 

_Extra comments: LEADER OF THE TERRORIST MOVEMENT KNOWN AS “THE KILLJOYS.” HIGHLY DANGEROUS INDIVIDUAL. ARMED. HAS LED SEVERAL ATTACKS ON BATTERY CITY, INCLUDING THE RECIENT RISE IN GRAFITI._  
 _CURRENTLY BEEN SEEN DRIVING A 1979 TRANS-AM PAINTED WITH FORBIDDEN COLORS AND DESIGNS, SUCH AS A BLACK WIDOW SPIDER ON THE BONNET, AND PROPAGANDA SLOGANS SUCH AS “LOOK ALIVE SUNSHINE.” THIS CAR HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED AS ONE STOLEN FROM BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES._  
 _CANNOT BE FIXED. EXTERMINATE ON SIGHT. BODY IS TO BE RETURNED TO BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES IMMEDIATELY AFTERWARDS FOR INCINERATION. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS BODY TO BE LEFT IN THE ZONES._  
 _ANY OTHER INFORMATION ON THIS INDIVIDUAL IS CLASSIFIED AND ONLY TO BE RELEASED TO ASSIGNED, FULLY-CLEARED EXTERMINATORS._

A chill runs through Frank that he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with the air conditioning. He looks back at the grey photo of Party Poison, trying to see any more details that aren’t obscured by the red X. Even though it’s meant to be a mug-shot, Party Poison’s head is tilted back defiantly. The black “EXTERMINATE” bar obscures his eyes, but the other details on his face are visible, such as his pointed nose and how the corners of his mouth are turned downwards. If Frank really stares, he can just about make out a red tinge to the straggly, dirty hair. 

Frank skims back over the description and several words leap out at him. 

Dangerous. Terrorist. Armed. 

And yet... Frank re-reads the description again. What do they mean by “forbidden colours” and “propaganda slogans”? And what on earth are the Zones? 

And why is so much about this man classified information? 

Frank’s shifting through some of the papers, catching glimpses of cars and clothes when a shadow falls across the table. He looks up, alarmed – Korse?! - but then realises it’s Ray Toro, standing awkwardly a few feet in front of him.

“Ray!” 

Frank can’t keep the delight and relief out his voice. 

“Hey Frank,” Ray says, looking nervous. “Mind if I – uh. Can I sit here?”

“Sure, sure!!” Frank says, quickly closing the PP Files (Oh. PP. Party Poison. Right.) as Ray sits down. There’s an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds as Ray unwraps a sandwich. 

“Is that from the vending machine?” Frank asks, pointing to the sandwich, trying to start up some kind of conversation. 

“Can’t you tell?” Ray asks with a wry smile, holding up the white wrapper with the usual Better Living Industries logo Frank’s come to expect on it. 

“How’s it taste?”

“Disgusting,” Ray says, taking a mouthful. “I’m not even sure what flavour it’s meant to be.”

“As long as it’s not Solent Green, I’m fine with it.”

Ray snorts, laughing but with no real humour. 

“So,” he says after a few more mouthfuls, “What you reading up on?” 

He seems a lot more confident and relaxed today, though that could just be to do with the lack of Korse’s presence. 

“Just catching up on some light reading,” Frank says, shrugging. 

“Anything interesting?” Ray asks casually. 

Too casually. 

Frank suddenly realises; the PP Files are clearly classified on several levels. He’s got access to them because he’s on a similar level to Korse but Ray’s nowhere near that. And yesterday... didn’t he catch Ray in an area he wasn’t supposed to be in?? 

Frank’s curious. What’s Ray up to? He didn’t notice it yesterday but now, he’s alert and aware. Can he even trust his old school friend? 

“Not really,” Frank says, making sure the names on the folders are hidden by his arm. “None of it makes any sense.”

At least he’s not lying. 

“Really? What doesn’t make sense?” And there, it’s now clearly genuine curiosity as opposed to a hidden agenda. Frank resists the urge to roll his eyes or say something; Ray was a terrible actor in school and he’s apparently not improved. 

“Well... code names and terminology mostly,” Frank admits. “I’m not sure who came up with half those names but I want whatever they were on!”

“Or whatever they _weren’t_ on,” Ray mutters, so quietly that Frank’s not even sure he’s heard him properly. 

Another awkward silence falls. Frank takes mouthfuls of his coffee and Ray picks at his sandwich. Finally, Frank can’t stand it anymore. 

“OK, well my lunch is up,” Frank says, giving Ray a friendly grin as he stands up quickly, remembering to grab the PP Files. “Was great to see you again –”

“Be careful, Iero.”

Ray speaks so quietly that again, Frank’s not sure what he’s hearing.

“What?” 

Ray’s eyes dart around the canteen quickly, making sure no one’s listening to them.

“You heard me,” he says, focusing intently on his sandwich. “Be careful. Whatever you’re doing... Look at the people around you. Don’t make it obvious.” Ray looks up, meeting Frank’s eyes and clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says in a louder tone. 

Cryptic warnings have never been Frank’s specialty. He hates it when he’s reading a book and the hero immediately understands the mysterious bullshit that Frank’s still trying to get his head around. Therefore it’s something of a surprise to realise he actually gets what Ray’s trying to tell him. 

_Look at the people around you. Don’t make it obvious._

He’s being too cheerful. Everyone else he’s seen around this entire dream universe looks like they’re three shades off the apocalypse and only vaguely care. 

He walks back to his familiar working room on auto-pilot. Like this morning, people seem to be getting out his way as he passes them, trying to avoid eye contact. 

Frank frowns. It might be a good idea to look into what his role in this company actually is. 

Much to his dismay, there’s a new pile of folders waiting for him on his desk. Someone’s been in while he was gone and emptied the bin and thoughtfully put a glass of water out for him too. The back of Frank’s neck prickles. Perhaps it’s paranoia but there’s that constant feeling in the atmosphere that he’s being watched and monitored. It’s like at his work in reality where the computers are monitored in the office. If anyone looks at any websites with “inappropriate content,” their computer is flagged up with their department boss and they get a warning (or fired, depending on how frequently they do it). Of course, it’s never specified just what counts as “inappropriate content” – porn is generally accepted as a no-no but no one can agree if social networking counts as well, or eBay, or any page that might contain a swearword. The result is that new people at the office spend their first few weeks living in fear and getting on with their work and only their work, until after a while they reach the same general state of disaffected apathy as the rest of the office and keep a facebook tab open in the background while they work. 

However, in this company, Frank suspects that no one ever reaches the “disaffected apathy” stage. 

He sinks down in his chair with a heavy sigh, hearing the door close, sealing him in the room. He looks up around in the corners of room for the first time and is not surprised at all to see a security camera affixed in one corner with a perfect view of his computer screen and the room. 

Well, at least that explains how they knew he needed more work to do. 

“Hello Frank,” the computer says in a pleasant female voice when he moves the mouse to wake it up. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch. Have you taken your medication today?”

“... and that’s just creepy,” he mutters. 

His afternoon passes slowly. The PP Files remain on his desk to his side, unread as he continues to log the paperwork. He loses himself in his work, the familiar monotony of a mindless task, focusing on the numbers and words he’s logging. He doesn’t really understand what he’s logging but he doesn’t really care either. It’s exactly the same in reality; you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone in the office who really knew or understood the finer details of what they were doing. 

By the time he’s finished the last piece of logging, Frank’s feeling as brain-dead as if he’d had a normal day at work. He groans and looks at his computer screen and blinks in surprise; the usual Better Living Industries logo is displayed with a message underneath that says “Thank you for your work today, Frank.” 

Frank doesn’t care if it’s meant to be inspirational or terrifying. Either way, he’s grabbing the PP Files and is out the room within a minute. 

The car is waiting for him outside. Frank gets in and he doesn’t question why he hasn’t seen any of the other workers driving to or from this building. As usual, his driver isn’t very chatty. Frank rolls his eyes and looks out the window at the street. There’s nothing particularly notable about any of the buildings that line the roads, they’re all identically non-descript and grey. 

Frank unconsciously runs a finger under the edge of one of his leather gloves as he looks out the window, his breath fogging up the glass. He hates how they feel against his skin, uncomfortable and suffocating. 

Then, something unusual happens. As the car slows down for a red light, there’s a flash of colour on the sidewalk. It’s so unexpected that Frank’s not sure what he’s seeing at first. He blinks and gives his head a shake.

It’s only some graffiti, he realises. In bright red paint that jumps out from its dull surroundings, someone’s sprayed onto the side of a building a red pill with an X underneath it. It’s a wonky, simplistic design but something about it holds Frank’s attention and he’s still thinking about it long after the car’s driven off and he can no longer see it. Something... there’s something about it. Frank can’t quite figure out what it is but it feels like he’s seen the design somewhere before. 

When he gets back to his apartment, Frank decides the best thing to do might be to make dinner. It’s such a mundane task, particularly in a dream, but he’s at a complete loss of what else to do. He’s already tried wandering around his apartment a few times, trying to force himself to wake up but to no avail. He slapped his face a few times, hoping the shock would jolt him out of it, but all that did was cause unnecessary pain. He tried lying in his bed, closing his eyes and then forcing them wide open. He tried to catch out the dream by pretending to walk to his kitchen but then abruptly changing directions... but that just resulted in him slamming straight into a very solid, very hard and very real wall. 

“I am so fucking bored,” he says, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet of his apartment. Where’s his CD player? Where’s his guitar? His laptop? His TV? Where are all his cigarettes?! He’s not craving one but he just wants something to do. 

He flings open the kitchen cupboards and looks at the rows of white tins, wondering what to make. For whatever reason, the only thing in his fridge is two bottles of water (with, as expected, the Better Living Industries logo stamped across the labels) and there isn’t even a proper stove or oven in this kitchen, just a microwave. The food on offer is just as inspiring; it’s all canned vegetables and processed meat. Frank’s nose wrinkles in disgust as he looks at the tin; what on earth possessed him to buy meat, processed or otherwise?! He shoves the tin of meat to the back of the cupboard and spots another tin which apparently contains “power pup (c) – pre-moistened kibble.”

Frank doesn’t have a dog and there’s no sign of a pet in this flat. Weird. 

Discouraged, he settles for opening a tin of carrots and sitting down on his sofa with the remaining PP Files. There are six of them, creatively labelled numerically. Chewing on a carrot that’s completely tasteless, he opens the file nearest him. He doesn’t care if it’s labelled as Number 6, he figures it’ll probably make about as much sense as Number 1.

It’s another report. The familiar Better Living Industries logo is at the top of the page and it seems to be detailing “Incident #X18112019FG, reported as it happened to by –“

The tin of carrots falls the ground.

~*~*~

_  
**Report.**   
_

_INCIDENT #X18112019FG_   
_LOCATION: Zone 5_   
_TARGET: Individual known only as alias Fun Ghoul._   
_EXTERMINATOR: Frank Iero_   
_ASSISTANCE: 3 Draculoids #37432, #73827, #01828_

_EXECT. SUMMARY: After studying the movements and previous attacks by Fun Ghoul, a pattern began to emerge. Following this pattern, it became likely that the terrorist’s next target was to be a Better Living Industries (hereafter referred to as BLI) warehouse of seized illegal’s in Zone 5. A BLI Cleanup Crew consisting of a Grade 5 Exterminator, Frank Iero, and three Draculoids for backup was sent out with the intent to either capture or exterminate._

_RESULTS: When the BLI Cleanup Crew arrived at the warehouse, it transpired that Fun Ghoul had apparently been deliberately creating the pattern as a trap. Upon arrival, Iero and Draculoid #01828 circled the perimeter of the building while Draculoids #37432 and #73827 were sent inside. However, this set off a tripwire that had been laid out and linked to several explosive devices that completely obliterated the warehouse. As the explosion went off, Iero and #01828 were attacked outside by Fun Ghoul and one other as-of-yet-unidentified Killjoy. Iero managed to wound (possibly fatally) Fun Ghoul with a shot to the chest but was knocked unconscious by a blow to the head from Fun Ghoul’s accomplice. When he regained consciousness, he found #01828 was dead from several gunshot wounds to the head, and their bikes had been intentionally destroyed by having gasoline poured over them and lit (Fun Ghoul’s trademark) with Fun Ghoul and his unknown accomplice gone, thus making pursuing impossible. Iero radioed Battery City for support and medical help, and was collected by a BLI Assistance Team shortly._

_COLLATERAL DAMAGE: 3 Draculoids and 4 Better Living Industry standard motorbikes._

_CORONER NOTES: Draculoids #37432 and #73827 were both entirely eradicated by the explosion in the warehouse. Only fragments were found, nothing to make up a complete whole body.  
Draculoid #01828 was killed by several raygun blasts to the head, including several that appear to be have been done at close range, suggesting that whoever shot him continued to do so after he had been initially immobilised. The eyes and brain were completely destroyed along with basic motor functions, thus rendering #01828 useless for any further use, including the most menial tasks. _

_FURTHER NOTES: It is entirely possible that Fun Ghoul was fatally injured, having been shot in the left side of the chest. Before being knocked unconscious, Iero saw Fun Ghoul collapse to the ground. Although there is not solid evidence, it is incredibly likely that #01828 was exterminated by Fun Ghoul’s unidentified accomplice. (A description of the accomplice is on page 2.)_

_Reported as it happen to by Frank Iero, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ Exterminator, Grade 5, with coroner notes from Better Living Industry Morgue._

~*~*~

Frank feels a chill deep within him. So that’s Fun Ghoul? A terrorist?! A terrorist that he, Frank Iero, went up against and apparently shot?!

The air feels too thin and his head is spinning. There’s a very high chance he’s killed someone. 

He flicks through the remaining paperwork in the folder, desperate for more information but all he’s treated to are photos of the charred remains of what was presumably the warehouse and a body lying on a slab - 

Frank feels sick. 

He reads over the page again, new details screaming out from the page at him. He’s an Exterminator. He doesn’t know exactly what that means or what S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ stands for, but he’s got the gist. He “exterminates.” 

His hand immediately flies up to the black X on his sleeve. No wonder people are scared to look at him, why Ray acts so hedgy around him... he’s a fucking hitman, but it’s ok because he’s apparently endorsed by the company to do so!! 

What kind of nightmare world is this?!! 

He stands up and paces the tiny floor space in his apartment, taking deep breaths and trying to Not Freak The Fuck Out. He can’t be a hitman... he can’t be capable of killing people in cold blood... he’s a fucking vegetarian, for crying out loud!! He won’t allow animals to be killed for food, how is he supposed to kill people for shits and giggles?!

Suddenly, he stops, mid-step. 

“Oh. Dream. Right.”

As he says the words, he’s hit with an amazing wave of sudden calmness. Of course. Freakishly real dream does not make for genuinely freakish reality. He sinks back down onto the sofa, relief rushing through him. He’s not a killer. He’s dreaming. He’s –

He’s giggling. 

“Oh good lord,” he says before dissolving into maniacal laughter. 

It takes a while before he can stop laughing like a mad man. He takes more deep breaths to get a grip on himself. Seriously, this dream stuff is fucked up. He makes a mental note to look up what the fuck this all means when he’s back in his own plane of reality. 

Frank picks up the PP Files again and heads to his bedroom, stretching out on his bed to give it another read-over, this time where he’s not hyperventilating. 

Korse wasn’t lying when he said the report was “riveting,” Frank thinks. The whole thing actually sounds quite exciting, if you look at it from that angle; he’s one of the heroes and he goes out to capture the bad guy but it ends in a dramatic shootout! There was even an explosion, he thinks, mournful that he didn’t get to come in on that part of this dream timeline. 

He tries to picture what Fun Ghoul looks like. Unlike Party Poison, there’s no picture in any of the folders. The best he’s can find is a profile sheet with a fairly detailed section on what Fun Ghoul wears but the majority of the fields are answered with “UNKNOWN.” Apparently, Fun Ghoul is suspected to be an associate of Party Poison... but no one really knows. The only things really known for definite about this guy is that he seems to have a penchant for explosives and he wears a purple Frankenstein mask. 

Frank grins. He likes the sound of this guy, he sounds like the cool kind of villain, like the Joker or Dr Doom. 

He looks back over the report for the umpteenth time, trying to pick out more details. Now that he can distance himself personally from it, it reads more like an awesome plotline... although he still can’t ignore the fact that he’s supposed to have written it. He touches the back of his head, expecting to feel a bruise or some kind of tenderness from where he was knocked out but all he can feel is his own hair... which is in dire need of a wash, he realises. 

He leans back on his bed, the file resting on his chest and glances out the window to the side; it’s completely dark outside. He can’t help but feel a bit irritated with the version of him that wrote this report. Anyone with half a brain would have realised the “pattern” was a trap. If this Fun Ghoul guy was as bad-ass as he sounded, then he wouldn’t have done things by accident, not unless he wanted to be seen... Perhaps Frank had already suspected that though? That explained why he’d sent the Draculoids into the warehouse first.

And speaking of, what on earth were Draculoids anyway?! Some kind of high-tech robot, Frank assumes, going on the casual tone in the report about their destruction...

Frank snorts, chokes – and his eyes fly open. 

He’s in his bed, warm sunlight streaming through the window. His hands are resting on his chest but the PP Files were under them a second ago, when he just closed his eyes for a second, just to get some rest – and now they’re not. 

He jumps out of bed, making a dash to the kitchen – the tins!! The best way to see if he’s dreaming or not is by the contents in his kitchen cupboard! – and nearly kills himself tripping over his guitar, which is propped carelessly against the foot of the bed. He stumbles into the living room, barely upright and crashes into the bookcase, making the shelves rattle and he’s almost in the kitchen before he realises and stops blasting through his apartment – his glorious, real apartment – like a hurricane from Hell.

~*~*~

“Dude, are you OK? You’ve barely said two words today.”

Frank snaps out of his funk long enough to realise that Bob is talking to him. They’re on their third cigarette break of the morning, mainly because Frank can’t stand to be sitting at his computer for more than 40 minutes having fucking dreamt about doing the same menial task all night and then having to do it in reality for two days now.

Bob stares at Frank, taking a long hard drag on his cigarette. From experience, Frank knows this means Bob is concerned.

“I’m fine,” Frank says, shrugging. “Just a bit... I slept weirdly.”

For a second, he considers telling Bob about his dreams but then decides against it. He’s not too sure how to describe it, not without sounding like a total lunatic. But maybe he can ask a few “safe” questions?

“Do you... do you dream in colour?” Frank asks, trying to sound casual. 

“And the relevance of this is...?”

Frank grins sheepishly. “Nothing at all, I’ve just been thinking lately, you know about dreams and what they signify and if they could be prophetic or -” 

“You’ll go mad if you focus on that kind of stuff too much,” Bob interrupts. 

“I think I’ve already gone mad from this place,” Frank says, leaning against the wall and looking up at Bob. Frank’s always had the urge to leap on Bob in a surprise-piggyback-attack but he’s never quite had the courage to do so; while he figures that Bob would probably just bear it in his usual unshakable manner, if the act was spotted by some boring jerkoff who reported it, Frank would probably find himself being hauled in for a disciplinary with his boss about “appropriate office behaviour.” 

“Touché,” Bob says. “So, dreams, huh? What you dreaming about?”

Frank takes another much-needed pull on his cigarette, feeling the nicotine soothe his nerves. 

“There’s this scary bald guy, and this bad guy I’m supposed to have killed... and everyone’s got really stupid names and it’s all in grey scale. It doesn’t really make sense,” he says.

Bob nods. “Sounds about right.” 

Frank’s not quite sure that’s true but he doesn’t voice this. Instead, he takes one last drag before crushing his cigarette under his heel, suggesting they should go back inside as they’re really only supposed to have two breaks a day anyway.

~*~*~

Franks stops in Starbucks on his way to the car park again. If this is becoming a habit, it’s one he’s OK with developing – it’s not like he’s got anything particularly exciting waiting for him at home. The girl behind the counter recognises him and greets him with a smile and a “the usual?” as he walks in, which makes up Frank’s mind; if he’s found a place where they already know his coffee order before he’s said it, then he’s found a keeper. He’s not even surprised to see Douchey Art-Boy sitting at the same table, completely engrossed in his sketchbook as usual with his greasy black hair falling over his face.

He sits down at a table, ignoring his surroundings and pulls his trashy Sci-Fi book out his bag. He really wants to read some more of it - he’s been ignoring it lately and the plot was just starting to pick up - but then his attention falls on his own scribbles on the front page and before he can help himself, he’s grabbed a pen out his bag and is writing down more details in the tiniest handwriting he can manage. 

He’s so absorbed by this task, trying to remember every single word of the PP File reports, that he loses track of time and his surroundings. The bustle of the coffee shop around him fade into nothingness, just meaningless background noise...

He notices, though, when a blank piece of paper slides across his table towards him. 

He looks up, blinking against the light, to see Douchey Art-Boy standing in front of him with an amused smile on his face. He’s got his sketchbook tucked under one arm and a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. 

“You know, some people would call that a hangable offence,” he says. 

Frank blinks, staring at him, completely lost. Douchey Art-Boy nods towards Frank’s book and suddenly he gets it. 

“Thought you might like something a bit bigger to write on,” Douchey Art-Boy continues, pushing the piece of paper further towards Frank; Frank can now see the torn edges where it’s clearly been torn out of a sketchbook. 

“Oh. Thanks,” Frank manages to say. He’s a little bit disorientated from having gone so deeply into his thoughts only to abruptly come out of them and find himself staring into the most disarming set of hazel eyes Frank’s seen for a while. “Sorry, I’m a bit –”

“No no, it’s cool, I totally get it – you go deep when you’re working. Like, when I’m painting or drawing, I get so lost in what I’m doing that I forget everything around me and then suddenly, I’ll realise ‘Oh god, I’m starving!’ or ‘Fuck, my bladder’s about to explode!’ So, you’re a writer?”

He says all this very quickly, that amused smile never leaving his face. Frank needs a second to try and catch up, and then is able to respond with the amazingly eloquent “Sorry, what?”

Douchey Art-Boy’s smile grows even wider. 

“Are you a writer?” he repeats, gesturing to Frank’s graffitied book. “You seemed pretty focused on whatever you were writing. Don’t you hate that when that happens though, you’re out and suddenly you get the BEST idea in the world and then you realise you’ve got nothing to draw – or in your case, write – it down on, so you just end up scribbling down on the nearest thing you can lay your hands on? I end up sharpie-ing up my arm most the time and then forget it’s there, fall asleep and wake up with it printed all over my face! So, what you writing?” 

“I’m not a writer,” Frank blurts out. He suddenly wishes he was and he’s not sure why. “I just... I had something I needed to remember.”

Douchey-Art-Boy nods understandingly. “Must’ve been important.”

“It’s... kinda. Not really. It’s... more an idea.”

“Ahh, I see,” Douchey Art-Boy says knowingly. He pauses as if he’s waiting for Frank to say more but when Frank doesn’t, he awkwardly jerks his head back to his table. “OK, well, I’m just gonna –”

“It’s an idea. For a novel,” Frank blurts out. It’s a bit of a risk, talking to a complete stranger, but he wants to. He wants to talk to somebody about this weird-ass dream life he’s been living for the past few days, he wants to speak it all out loud, and he also gets the feeling that if anyone is going to even vaguely understand what he’s on about, it’s this guy.

Douchey Art-Boy’s eyes widen with excitement and he sits down immediately at Frank’s table, setting down his sketchbook and coffee in front of him. Generally, Frank would be irritated by the invasion of his own personal space, of how this person just assumes he can sit down and join him, but this guy seems to be the kind of person who is completely oblivious to accepted social norms. 

“What for?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested. 

“Well, I’m not sure... I’m not sure on the finer details. I just... I have this... character. And he’s... he gets these weird dreams. Like, they’re weird in the way that they’re completely normal, like his day to day life. It feels almost as if he’s genuinely awake for these dreams, that’s how real they feel.”

Douchey Art-Boy nods, listening intently. 

“And,” Frank continues, unable to stop now. “These dreams, they’re realistic in the way that they feel real but there’s also something off about them too, like he’s missing some vital piece of information... and... well, that’s where I’m stuck.”

Douchey Art-Boy nods again, biting on his lower lip as he thinks. 

“Well, I suppose the question you should be asking at this point is if the character in control of the dream or not,” he says after a moment’s thought. 

Frank frowns. “Explain.”

“OK, so put it this way – your character is in his dream and he’s walking along a road. Can he make someone come towards him, conjure their appearance out of nothing and will them into being, or does he have to wait for them to come to him of their own accord and with him having no idea when they’ll show up?”

“The latter,” Frank says immediately. 

Douchey Art-Boy grins widely, revealing his bizarrely tiny teeth. Oddly, Frank finds this flaw endearing. “OK, OK, good, that makes things a lot more interesting.”

“How?”

“Because... if your character isn’t in control of his own dreams, then it suggests there’s something bigger going on. He might not be dreaming at all.”

There’s a pause. 

Oh. 

“But that’s – that’s impossible,” Frank says, more to himself. 

“Not really! It’s science-fiction, anything’s possible!” Douchey Art-Boy’s grin is excited and his enthusiasm shows all over his face. “OK, even in the weirdest of science fiction... or even fiction in general... the one staple rule is that _dreams are significant_. Now the average person has the average dream which generally makes little-to-no sense, OK? But in comics, whenever a character is dreaming about something, it’s because it’s something that the writer needs the reader to figure out along with the character, so dreams work as a really good plot device **but** they can also be used as the plot because if a character’s subconscious is no longer controlling their dreams then it suggests that either something else is controlling their dream, like in The Matrix where they can manipulate themselves but not the world around them or there’s the even bigger idea that the world they think they’re dreaming about is actually reality. So if that’s what’s going down, then is that the world your character thinks is real isn’t and the dream is actually reality, which implies mind control or manipulation from a higher power, or is that _both_ worlds are real and one is a parallel universe which your character is now stuck in?”

He says all this incredibly quickly, his face getting more and more expressive as he talks and waving his hands around for emphasis. 

“A parallel universe?” Frank eventually asks.

“Exactly!! ... Hey, are you ok??” 

Frank’s head is spinning. A parallel universe?! It’s not _possible_. 

Although there is that saying stranger things have happened... 

He suddenly remembers the giant MRI machine he saw in his first dream. And he’d been strapped down to a table there too. What if that was what brought him there?! What if he wasn’t dreaming?! 

“Hey, hey man, you’ve gone really pale, are you OK?” Douchey Art-Boy asks, sounding panicked. “Here, drink this!!” He pushes his coffee cup towards Frank. 

Frank looks up at him; whatever he’s thinking must clearly be displayed all over his face because Douchey Art-Boy’s eyes are wide and alarmed.

“Did I say something wrong? Are you ok?!” he asks again.

“I’ve... I’ve just had a revelation,” Frank says, getting to his feet. “I gotta go.”

And without another word, he grabs his bag and heads out the door. It’s not until he’s halfway home in his car that he realises he left his book on the table.

~*~*~

So, there are three logical answers, Frank reasons. He’s pacing his apartment again, a habit he likes to do when he’s thinking. He’s just had a shower and his hair is damp as he lets it dry naturally.

Number one. It is really all just a dream. OK, so it’s an incredibly intense dream but hey, even science has struggled to properly find a reason for why people dream. It’s possible that Frank’s brain is just wired a bit differently so his dreams actually follow some kind of logical progression and apparently play out in real-time.

He frowns and pulls his fingers through his hair, feeling where it’s already starting to curl at the tips. 

Number two. It really is an alternate-parallel universe, or something equally weird lifted straight from a science fiction novel. This would explain the vivid reality and how the basic rules of reality, such as the laws of gravity and social norms, are being obeyed. However, this theory does not explain why Frank’s jumping between this world and his own every time he goes to sleep.

Frank looks down at his coffee table, where the PP Files are scattered. Party Poison’s partly-obscured face frowns off into the distance. 

Number three. He’s gone crazy and is currently in the middle of having some kind of psychotic breakdown. 

Worryingly, that one actually makes the most sense. 

“Oh my God,” Frank groans and sinks down on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. 

Waking up in the same dream for a third time pretty much cements the idea that there’s something else going on here, but he still doesn’t want to accept it. The idea that something interesting is happening to him, that he’s in such a weird situation... it’s completely unbelievable. 

It’s too much like something out a comic book. These things don’t happen to people and if even if they did, they wouldn’t happen to people like Frank. He didn’t ask for it, he didn’t want it. He was content to get on with his everyday life, to keep getting up every day and going to the office. Perhaps one day, he’d do something about his job, like get a promotion or quit. Or maybe he’d get a new hobby to keep himself interested, or maybe he’d meet someone new. That was about as much excitement as he was hoping for in his life. 

But being sucked into a parallel world? That just makes no sense. It’s too much a departure from reality. In fiction, these things happen to heroes, to people who are interesting, brave and clever. These kind of people – _characters_ , Frank corrects himself – figure out exactly what’s going on immediately and don’t let someone like Korse intimidate the crap out of them. 

Frank’s not a hero. He doesn’t have ‘main character’ qualities, not like someone like Bob. Bob would be a good hero in this kind of story. Bob’s huge and tough and works out. He doesn’t take shit and probably wouldn’t freak out the point of hyperventilating at every new discovery, like Frank is right now. 

Bob is the kind of person this should happen to, not Frank. Frank’s the quiet nerdy guy in the office who was reads rubbish books and gets sick about six times a year. 

No, Frank’s not a hero... so why is this happening to him??

He looks at his watch. It’s 6:19AM – the car to take him to work will be here soon. There’s no point in questioning things right now. He’s not going to get any answers sitting around his apartment. Best get dressed.

Frank’s not exactly sure what the dress code is at Better Living Industries but from looking inside his wardrobe in this world, he can guess, if the rows of grey and white shirts are anything to go by. That ominous black X is present on all his shirts but Frank takes some comfort in that all the shirts are high-collared so his neck tattoos will be hidden. Clearly, he had no intention of getting rid of them and it’s nice to know that the version of him who lives in this world felt as strongly about his tattoos are he does. 

If, you know, this actually is a parallel world. Frank’s still trying to hold onto the hope that this is just a dream. 

The car journey to Better Living Industries is uneventful and in silence, as usual. His attempts to create some kind of conversation with the driver go completely ignored. Frank’s not even sure if it’s the same driver every time or not because he’s still yet to see the guy’s face; all he’s ever seen is the back the skin-tight white hood from the uniform they’re wearing. 

When the car pulls up outside the building, Frank joins in step with the rest of the workers going inside. Like he’s done for the past two days, he goes straight to his usual working room, keys in the code and takes his place at his desk, next to the fresh pile of files already waiting to be logged. He ignores the camera watching him and gets on with his work, and by the time he’s finished, it’s time for lunch.

Perhaps he should be worried at how easily he’s slotted into the routine here, he muses as he walks to the canteen. There’s something comforting in routine though and if Frank takes pride on anything, it’s his ability to fit in immediately anywhere he ends up. He gets another disgusting coffee from the vending machine - oddly, he doesn’t have much of an appetite here - and sits down at the same table he sat at yesterday. When Ray shows up, he sits opposite him without hesitation. 

“Hey Frank,” he says with something that could even be a hint of genuine friendliness. “How’s the coffee?”

“Disgusting. How’s the sandwich?”

“Disgusting. Have a better day, eh?”

Frank snorts. 

“I think Power Pup tastes better than the food here,” he says, watching Ray’s reaction carefully. 

“Definitely,” Ray says, taking a bite out his vending machine sandwich and wincing. “You know the world’s ended when vegetarian dog food tastes better than people food!”

Huh. That wasn’t quite expected. 

Wait... vegetarian dog food? Frank nearly chokes on a mouthful of coffee. Is _that_ why he’s got it in his cupboard?! 

He’s got so many questions, so much he wants to ask Ray, but he bites his tongue and focuses on general chitchat. He’s still not sure what exactly counts as “normal” conversations here but he has a feeling all the questions he wants to ask won’t come under that heading, and if it turns out this world is real, he’s going to have to be very careful. Frank’s not exactly sure what’s happened here or the finer points of the social order but he can tell it’s a place where asking the wrong questions and drawing attention to yourself is a bad idea.

Instead, they stick to “safe” topics. Frank discovers Ray works in the production and development line of robotics, testing out new chips for flaws. This is a bit of a surprise, mainly because he’s surprised to discover this company actually has a robotics section... Food, coffee, hitmen that take down terrorists and apparently robots - what does this company actually do? 

Ray’s job just chalks up the probability that this isn’t a dream. Frank’s certain that in his own dream, he wouldn’t give everyone else much cooler jobs than him while he’s stuck doing data-friggin’-input. 

Frank also discovers that Ray lives alone in a company-owned apartment, “like everyone who works here,” he says, giving Frank a funny look when he asks, which explains the somewhat muted colour scheme in Frank’s own apartment. 

Frank and Ray are just finishing up their lunch when there’s the sound of a disruption from the far side of the canteen. Automatically, Frank looks over, not noticing Ray’s looking firmly down. 

Three guys have just walked in. At least, Frank assumes they’re male but the masks they’re wearing make it difficult to tell. For some bizarre reason, they’re wearing white monster masks with vivid red mouths painted on and even from across the canteen, Frank can see rows of fangs displayed. Tufts of black hair stick out at all angles in weird hairstyles. They’re dressed in matching white suits, with loose, casual blazers and the collars turned up. Weirdly, despite the matching outfits, they’ve all styled themselves slightly differently; one has its sleeves rolled up, another has more hair on its mask and the other has painted its mouth a shocking pink. They’re talking loudly and cheerfully, drawing attention immediately to themselves... and yet, no one in the canteen has even reacted to their disruptive appearance. 

“Don’t look at them!” Ray hisses, staring at the table. 

“What?? Why?” Frank asks, tearing his gaze away. “Why are they dressed like that?!”

“Because they’ll come over!” 

Frank risks another look. The three masked guys are now crowded around a single woman who was sitting alone. They’re clearly mocking her, talking directly to her and lightly shoving her, but she continues to sit calmly and chew on her sandwich. 

“Why isn’t anyone stopping them?” Frank asks, completely confused.

“Draculoids,” Ray says, sounding disgusted. “Trigger-happy sleazebags, the only people ranked higher than them are Scarecr- oh.”

Ray stops talking abruptly and goes bright red. Frank’s completely confused and looks back at the three Draculoids (seriously, _Draculoids_?? Whoever’s coming up with these names is either a lunatic or genius) and feels a pang of horror in his stomach when the shortest one with the sleeves rolled up also happens to look up from tormenting the woman at the same time. Even though it’s wearing a mask, Frank feels their eyes lock, and sure enough, a second later, it elbows the other two in the sides. They all look at Frank.

Suddenly, Frank realises that the low mumble of conversation in the canteen has completely stopped. 

“Shit,” he hisses. 

“Iero!!” the tallest one with the hair says loudly as all three walk over to Frank and Ray’s table. 

Frank’s suddenly reminded of how in high school when the bullies would spot their target and hone in, like wolves in a pack descending on their prey. As the short nerdy kid with the reputation of constantly being sick, Frank was often a target and while he’s pretty sure that these three Draculoids aren’t about to shove him inside a locker and steal his lunch money, all his instincts scream that this can’t be a good thing. He seized with the mad urge to tell Ray to run and save himself.

“Iero!” the tallest one says again cheerfully as they get close enough. 

“Nice pet!” says the one with the pink mouth, gesturing to Ray. They all burst out laughing but Ray keeps his stare firmly fixed on the table, ignoring them.

“Yeah well, nice mask,” Frank replies, sounding a lot cooler than he feels. 

That shuts them up. Frank’s not exactly sure why. He tries to keep up with the poker-face. 

“So,” says the tallest one, who’s clearly the leader of the group. “Heard you had a nice little run in with Fun Ghoul a few days back.”

“You heard correctly.” 

“Impressive.”

Even with his voice muffled by the rubber mask, there’s no mistaking the sarcasm. 

“You know, there’s meant to be a party out in Zone 2 tonight. Zone Rats running everywhere. You in?” says the one with the pink mouth. 

“Can’t. I’m washing my hair,” Frank says. Any kind of social gathering with douchebags like this is bound to suck.

Also, he has no idea what half those words even mean. 

The tallest one snorts. “Your loss.”

“I’ll live.” 

The Draculoids stare at him for a few seconds. He’s clearly said the wrong thing. 

“Watch your back, Iero,” says the tallest one quietly, leaning in so only Frank can hear him. “Your little grade only keeps you safe in the building.”

And without another word, they turn around and leave the canteen. As they do, Frank suddenly notices a detail he missed earlier; on their left arms, they’ve all got the same black X in a box displayed. 

The same black X that Frank has on his own arm.

He swallows. That can’t be good. 

It takes a few minutes before normal chatter resumes in the canteen after they’ve gone. With a deep sigh of relief, Frank turns back to Ray.

“Phew, thought they’d never leave!” Frank says, trying to play it off lightly. “What?”

Ray is staring at Frank with a very odd expression on his face, like he’s trying to work something out. 

“They... they threatened you,” Ray says slowly. 

Frank shrugs. “They don’t scare me. I’d like to see them try to actually do anything.” 

Ray’s eyes widen. Again, very clearly, Frank has said the wrong thing. 

“Frank,” Ray says after a moment’s pause. “What’s _wrong_ with you??”

~*~*~

By the time the end of the day rolls round, Frank can feel the motherload of all headaches coming on. Seriously, he can’t keep up with this world. The people are miserable and scared. There’s no colour. There are guys who run around in masks and no one thinks it’s weird at all... and everything has a fucking _stupid_ name.

It’s almost a relief to be locked away in his work room; at least in there, he still knows what he’s doing and the computer seems to vaguely like him.

“Hello Frank, did you enjoy your lunch?” it asks in its usual pleasant voice when he sits back down. “Have you taken your medication today?”

“Sure thing, Hal,” he mutters and picks up a fresh file. He might not understand exactly what he’s doing but that’s the same back at home.

The day passes quickly. Soon enough, he’s down to his last file of the day. He recognises the basic template as a report, but as for the rest of it... 

_Code 3. Colours: Orange #4638 Description: WHAT WILL SAVE US? Eradicated. Suspect unknown._

Frank sighs and logs in the information in the correct fields before shredding the paperwork. He has no idea what a code 3 is or what the colours are supposed to stand for but maybe that’s the point. He’s only an office monkey. He’s not supposed to understand what he’s doing, he’s just supposed to do it. 

It isn’t until he’s on his way home and the car pulls up at a traffic light that Frank remembers the graffiti he saw yesterday. He looks at the building but the strange symbol’s gone; the wall is completely blank... but if Frank really stares hard, he can see there’s a patch that’s a slightly fresher white than the rest, like it’s just been painted.

~*~*~

When Frank goes into Starbucks after yet another day of the exact same task in a different world, he automatically looks over to Douchey-Art-Boy’s usual table and is surprised to see it’s empty.

Frank’s not sure what emotion he’s feeling at this. He’s not even sure why he’s feeling any emotion over this. 

It’s the same girl behind the counter and she smiles at Frank warmly as he approaches.

“Usual?” she asks. 

Frank nods and clears his throat. “I - uh – I left my book here yesterday. I was wondering, has anyone handed it in?” 

The girl shakes her head. “Haven’t seen one. Are you sure you left it here? I cleared up your table after you’d gone and I didn’t see a book.” 

Damn. All his notes about his alternate dream-world were in there. 

And he never even finished the actual book either. 

He ponders for a minute about asking if she’s seen Douchey-Art-Boy today but then thinks better of it. After all, he’s got no reason to be interested in where the guy is. Frank is not even remotely bothered or disappointed that he’s not here today, and the only reason why Frank spends his entire time in Starbucks today thinking about the possible conversations they could have been having about parallel universes is because Douchey-Art-Boy seemed to know an awful lot about how they worked. 

Of course. 

And he most definitely does not kick himself for not getting Douchey-Art-Boy’s name when he had the chance.

~*~*~

Frank starts to find himself settling into a routine which goes as so:

He gets up. He goes to work. He completes his menial task. He eats lunch with Ray. He goes back to his logging. He goes home. He wanders around his apartment aimlessly. He goes to bed.

He gets up. He goes to work. He completes his menial task. He eats lunch with Bob. He goes back to his logging. He goes to Starbucks. He does not look around hopefully for Douchey-Art-Boy. He goes home. He wanders around his apartment aimlessly. He goes to bed. 

He gets up. He goes to work...

He finishes up the week in this manner and by the time Friday afternoon rolls around, he’s about ready to collapse with sheer exhaustion as he pushes open the door to Starbucks. This is apparently becoming a habit but he needs a coffee to help perk him up after a day at work and so what if it’s cheeper and easier to make it at home, he likes Starbucks, OK?! He’s given up looking out for Douchey-Art-Boy anymore (and he keeps telling himself that he’s not disappointed by this) and he’s even bought a new book to replace the one he lost and even a new notebook to make more notes about Better Living Industries. He takes his usual seat by the window and takes a sip of coffee when he hears the door open. Automatically, he looks up –

“Oh!” he gasps.

Douchey-Art-Boy has just walked in. 

His hair is even greasier than usual and he’s carrying a massive portfolio folder over his shoulder. The bags under his eyes are worse than Frank’s ever seen them and he’s got a few spots dotted on his chin. He looks tired but there’s triumphant smile on his face. 

“Heya!” the girl behind the counter says brightly. “Long time no see!!”

He grins at her. “Deadlines. All done now though! Can I get a triple-shot latte?”

The girl sets to making it and when Douchey-Art-Boy starts to get out his wallet, she waves him off and tells him not to worry. 

“On the house,” she says with a warm smile. “Welcome back.”

Frank wonders how long he’s going to have to keep coming in until he starts getting free coffee.

As Douchey-Art-Boy waits for his coffee to be made, he leans casually against the counter and Frank’s trying not to stare too much. He’s kinda cute, if you like the whole ‘unwashed stereotypical art-student’ thing. There are splashes of paint and ink all over his clothes and he’s got grey smudges around his face and in his hairline, where he’s clearly forgotten he’s been using charcoal and rubbed his eyes or ran his hands through his hair. His portfolio case is hanging off his shoulder and Frank wonders what kind of art’s inside; he imagines arty charcoal sketches of nudes and still-lifes with lots of abstract uses of lines and smudges that all have deep, significant meanings... 

Douchey-Art-Boy abruptly looks up and catches Frank staring. Frank jumps like he’s been caught doing something wrong and immediately focuses intently at his new book, pretending not to be there.

“Hey, you forgot this on Wednesday.”

An ink-splattered hand is holding a familiar looking book in front of Frank. He follows the arm attached to the hand all the way up to Douchey-Art-Boy’s face and Frank’s relieved to see he’s smiling and not looking like he about to kosh him over the head with his portfolio case for being a weird-ass creeper. 

“My book!” Frank says, unable to keep the delight out his voice. “Where did you -?”

“You left it here when you ran off,” Douchey-Art-Boy replies, sitting down opposite Frank again without asking, like Frank’s already offered. Like they’re friends. “Must have been one hell of an idea you had!” 

Frank stares at him. 

“For your novel?” Douchey-Art –Boy continues. “The one with the Fun Ghoul?”

“How did you know about Fun -”

“Sorry, I read your notes.” To his credit, he looks sheepish. “It sounds interesting though! How’s it going anyway?” 

Frank blinks. “I – I – Where were you? Like, yesterday and the day before?”

Frank didn’t think it was possible but Douchey-Art-Boy’s grin gets wider.

“Heh, yeah, I had a deadline,” he says, pulling his hands through his hair. “I had to go into my publisher’s office, didn’t see daylight for three days!”

“You have a publisher? But you’re so –” Frank stops himself from saying ‘young.’ “That’s great! What kind of stuff do you do?” 

“Comics, mostly. I mean, I’m just getting by as a freelancer mostly; it sucks but it pays the bills. Here, I'll show you!"

Douchey-Art-Boy unzips his portfolio case and pulls out a laminated folder that he hands to Frank. Frank's mouth drops as he opens it; it's a comic strip, boldly inked with the colours vibrantly clashing off each other. The people are drawn in a very distinctive cartoon style but there's something in the lines, in the way they're drawn that seems to bring them to life, to make them appear as if they're actually moving. 

It's so quirky and so weird and so not what Frank was expecting. 

"This is amazing," Frank says, unable to look away. "Seriously, you've got talent! What's this for?" 

"That's just a random panel," Douchey-Art-Boy says with a grin, but he's blushing slightly. "Like I said, I work freelance mostly. I mean, I've got my own stuff I'm working on but until I actually make it as some world-famous artist, I've got to keep taking whatever kind of work I can get! Mostly, I work on extra inkings and random pages; like if there's a comic that needs another artist to fill in the backgrounds or draw in crowd scenes, or if the art’s already done but they need someone to ink it in, then in I step and hey presto!"

"Does that pay enough?" Frank asks, surprised. "That doesn't seem like very much work..."

"Generally, it doesn't but I do a lot of it. Most the time, I can get it done in a few days but I've been a bit lax lately and then suddenly I had all these deadlines and my publisher had to pretty much break down my door and drag me to her office to make sure I actually got on with it! So what about you, what do you do?"

"I work in an office. And... that's about it."

Douchey-Art-Boy nods understandingly. "I tried that once; when the whole artist-thing really wasn't working, I took up temping." He shudders. "Most soul-sucking thing I've ever done, and I've worked at Cartoon Network!" Frank laughs along, though he doesn't quite get the joke. "I swore I'd never do that again, it's just not worth it. I'd come home and just feel so UNINSPIRED, you know? Like, I'd get up, go to work, then go home and sleep, then get up and repeat it all again."

Frank blinks. "It pays well," he says, slightly stung. 

"True, true. I guess that's what it boils down to though, isn't it?" He shrugs. "It's either happiness or money. Apparently you can't have both!"

"Yeah, I think I've chosen money. Does that make me an asshole?"

Douchey-Art-Boy laughs, a loud honking laugh. "Only slightly. But hey, you're talking to a guy who likes to sit in Starbucks and draw, so I think we're as bad as each other!"

They both laugh. 

"I'm Gerard, by the way."

"Frank."

Frank reaches out shakes Douchey-Art-Boy – Gerard’s - hand; it’s slightly damp and warm, and his nose crinkles when he smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting alone in the Better Living Industries canteen, Frank can’t help but sigh. His earlier relief at the monotony of his job very quickly turned to sheer disappointment; only in Frank’s life could he find himself living in a parallel universe and _still_ have the same crap job. Typical. 

If only he had someone he could talk to about what’s happened, to find out exactly what’s happened here... 

He needs a Gerard. He needs a Gerard-like person who immediately accepts weirdness and doesn’t question it if he’s said the wrong thing or doesn’t quite know something he’s supposed to. He thinks back to yesterday; him and Gerard had talked for almost three hours over coffee about art and possible ideas for Frank’s ‘novel.’ Gerard was convinced that Better Living Industries is ‘your standard stereotypical evil corporation’ but Frank disagreed. For one thing, aside from being incredibly creepy, there’s nothing to suggest that. 

“They’ve got their logo on _everything_ ,” Gerard said, like that proved it.

“Yeah, but so does Apple and they’re not evil!” 

Gerard grinned. “Oh please. Apple are taking over the world.”

“Like Starbucks,” Frank said, raising his coffee cup.

“Exactly. Like Starbucks.” Gerard grinned and took a large sip of his own Starbucks-brewed coffee. “And they’re evil too. They make good coffee but they’re slowly taking over the world. Face it Frankie, it’s a staple of Science Fiction; if there’s a big corporation that controls everything, they’re _evil_.” 

“Yeah, but in real life, corporations aren’t all evil!” Frank said, thinking back to the office he works in. It’s one of those companies that prides itself on being the kind of company to ‘celebrate the underdog and favour the little man.’ On his first day, he was impressed by this statement and felt genuinely hopeful that this office would be a fun place to work with amazingly interesting people. Once the glamour had worn off and Frank started to settle down in his role though, he quickly realised this was a lie to make people the people feel like the work they were doing actually had some meaning. Disillusioning, yes but not necessarily evil. 

Ray sits down opposite Frank, bringing him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey man!” Ray says. There’s something off about him today, barely restrained excitement showing all over his face. “So, did you hear?” 

Frank is resigned to the fact that he will never know anything that’s going on in this world in advance.

“Apparently there was a Killjoy raid last night, just outside of Zone 1,” Ray says, leaning in, talking in a hushed tone. 

“What, to do with Party Poison?” The only Killjoy names Frank knows are Fun Ghoul and Party Poison, and seeing as Fun Ghoul’s dead, he’s going with what he knows.

“Nah, Kobra Kid,” Ray says. (The name vaguely rings a bell to Frank, he suspects he’s seen it on a report somewhere.) “But here’s the thing; nothing happened. The Dracs got there and the place was completely cleared out.”

“So? Maybe they had a look out stationed?” 

Ray shakes his head. “This raid was apparently planned for months in advance and it was on one of the refugee camps. There’s no way they could have gotten that many people out in such short notice, not without a firefight. Rumour has it –” Ray pauses, looks around to make sure no one’s listening and lower his voice. “Rumour has it that there’s a mole in the company who tipped them off.”

Now Frank’s interested. 

“A mole?” 

“Yeah. I would have thought you’d have heard all about this, seeing as it’s Scarecrow’s area and all...”

“Nope. Come on, man, you know I’m on desk duty. You’re the only other person I see around this place!”

“You’d get the reports in though, surely?”

Frank shrugs. “Maybe... what kind of refugee camp was this anyway?” 

“One of the interim ones, apparently. You know, they get the people – families and kids mostly - out the city into the camp in the Zones and then they go from there.” 

Kids? Frank thinks back to the pile of folders he’s shredded and suddenly feels sick. 

“When you say kids...”

“From the orphanages. Come on, you know this,” Ray says. 

“So, these Killjoys are kidnapping kids out of orphanages and then... what?”

“They get them out across the Zones. Train them up.”

“For what?!”

Ray shrugs. “Various things, I guess. It’s not so much what they’re doing out there, it’s more the fact that they’re out there.” 

There’s no way Better Living Industries can be evil. Not if the ‘other side’ is kidnapping orphans and training them up to be solders. 

“Uh oh, heads up; Angry Dracs at two o’clock,” Ray says suddenly, nodding towards the door. 

Frank looks over and tries not to groan. Five Draculoids have just walked in. They’re all wearing those monster-masks but Frank can recognise amongst them the three that spoke to him. He turns back to his coffee and keeps his head low, trying not to draw attention to himself. 

“Good move,” Ray says out the side of his mouth, not looking up from his sandwich. 

“I can’t be bothered to deal with douchebags,” Frank says. 

“Well, I’d stay out their way especially today. Word around the office is that they’re the ones who were at the raid last night; they’re especially pissed at the lack of the results.”

Frank doesn’t question how Ray knows these things. In hindsight, he later thinks not asking that question was stupid.

~*~*~

The drive home is uneventful. Frank’s in a worse mood than ever having also discovered at lunch that he has to work weekends as well (“well, what else are you going to do??” Ray asked, looking genuinely baffled).

Feeling rebellious, Frank snuck a few of the folders he was supposed to have shredded home under his jacket; perhaps he can try to decipher them and find out what the fuck is really going on here. Ray certainly seems to think he knows something... 

However, an hour and three cups of disgusting coffee later, Frank is sitting on his uncomfortable sofa and absolutely no further to deciphering what they mean. Colours are used a lot, along with random phrases – _Keep Running_ pops up a fair amount. He opens up the PP Files, hoping that the cipher might be in there somewhere. 

“God, what I wouldn’t give for a fucking laptop,” Frank mutters. “Someone get me Google!” 

Something Frank noticed incredibly quickly about this world was that for all the high-tech computers, there was a distinct lack of personal computers and even the internet. He tried finding a web browser on the computer at work but the closest thing he could find was the internal instant message system that seemed to be entirely localised within the company. He hasn’t seen anyone use a mobile phone here either although he’s seen several Dracs using what looks like radios. 

It’s frustrating and Frank feels incredibly isolated without his phone. He’d tried flipping on the TV that’s stationed in the corner earlier but the only program it seemed to show was Better Living Industries approved Fact News, which played the same news stories and weather reports over and over again. He’d left the TV on in the hopes of gaining some information but then the reporter mentioned a congratulations to Korse for leading a successful raid into Zone 2 on one of the dangerous Killjoy camps last night, at which point Frank turned off the TV with a noise of disgust. At least that part was still the same as Science-Fiction dictated it; you really couldn’t trust the media. 

He shifts through the papers idly – there’s a few parts he hasn’t read yet because he took one look at the technical jargon and weird code names and felt his brain start to leak out his ears – when a name catches his eye.

_Kobra Kid._

Wasn’t that who Ray said the Draculoids had been after? 

He reads on. It’s another profile page, set out in the exact same way as Party Poison’s was.

_Name: UNKNOWN – SUSPECTED TO BE MISSING BATTERY CITY CITEZEN MICHAEL WAY BUT THIS IS UNVERIFIED._  
Alias: KOBRA KID   
Gender: M  
Age: UNKNOWN – BELIEVED TO BE EARLY TO MID 30’S.  
D/O/B: UNKNOWN  
Height: aprox. 5ft10  
Weight: UNKNOWN  
Ethnicity: WHITE/CAUCASIAN  
Hair: BLOND. BLEACHED. SHORT SIDES. PUSHED BACK. DARK ROOTS AND SIDEBURNS   
Eyes: UNKNOWN – WEARS SUNGLASSES THE MAJORITY OF THE TIME  
Distinguishing marks/scars etc: NONE KNOWN FOR CERTAIN. BELIEVED TO HAVE A TATTOO ON LEFT INNER FOREARM BUT DESIGN IS UNCERTAIN.   
Location: BELIEVED TO BE RESIDING IN ZONE 6. HOWEVER, HAS BEEN SIGHTED THROUGHOUT ALL OF THE ZONES AND IN BATTERY CITY SEVERAL TIMES.  
Family: UNKNOWN – SEE “EXTRA COMMENTS” SECTION   
Known Associates: PARTY POISON. DR DEATH DEFYING.  
Suspected Associates: SHOW PONY. FUN GHOUL. AGENT CHERRI COLA. DJ HOT CHIMP. NEWS A GOGO. ALSO SUSPECTED TO HAVE CONTACT WITH BATTERY CITY CITIZEN RAY TORO (see pg 4). 

Frank blinks, stares at the report again, trying to read it as anything else.

Nope, still there, clear as day.

Ray Toro. 

“Fuck,” he hisses.

He flicks to page 4.

Frank’s eyes widen. 

Ray’s been drawing attention to himself these past few weeks. He’s been asking the wrong kinds of questions and been seen in wrong kinds of places and while there’s nothing to suggest that he’s been leaving the city, there’s several pieces of evidence that suggest he’s been passing information on to Kobra Kid, a known associate of Party Poison.

Frank thinks back to how Ray always knows the latest gossip and how he’s always asking Frank questions about his work. 

“Fuck,” he says again. 

He thinks further back to how he first met Ray here.

_“There was a rumour – I mean, I’d heard that you were – that Scarecrow were possibly testing some new weapon today... I wanted to see if... if I could be of any use.”_

“Double fuck,” Frank groans. 

He carries on reading Ray’s file when he sees something that makes his blood run cold. 

Ray’s under covert supervision and by none other than Scarecrow’s finest Grade 5 Exterminator, Frank Iero.

Abruptly, nausea rises up in the back of Frank’s throat and he has to run to the toilet, retching. 

_“I’m impressed, Iero,” Korse says in a monotone as they walk down yet another boring corridor. “Already integrating yourself and gaining trust, that’s showing initiative.”_

Fuck, how had he not realised? Frank wipes his mouth on the edge of his sleeve, trying to stop shivering. 

_“Nice pet!” says the one Drac the pink mouth, gesturing to Ray._

He wouldn’t have been socialising for fun, especially with someone like Ray. And those Dracs must have fucking known. 

A horrifying thought occurs; he’s an exterminator. He’s a fucking paid murderer. He’s killed Fun Ghoul, whoever that was, and if he gets any damning information on Ray, he’s probably supposed to be setting him up nicely for ‘extermination’ too. 

He can’t stop shaking. He really doesn’t know how this world works, and unless he starts to figure it out – and fucking soon – it’s going to get him killed. 

“I want to go home,” he whimpers, curling up in a ball on the bathroom floor. “I want to go home.” 

He wants to sleep. He closes his eyes, rocking back and forth, trying to sleep. It’s a lost cause though; he’s far too worked up to sleep. Tears and mucus run across his face as he fights against the hysteria threatening to rise over and drag him down. 

Something – somewhere – has gone horribly wrong in this world. And whatever it was, he’s undeniably a part of it. 

He breathes deeply though his nose. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Deep breaths, the kind he used to employ when he’d been shoved inside a locker at school. In. Out. In. Out. Waiting in the dark for someone to let him out. Trying to calm down enough so that the darkness felt less like a cloistering void threatening to engulf him and more like a comforting space he could hide in, safe from the world. 

In. Out. In. Out.

It takes time, but eventually, it starts to work. Eventually, Frank begins to feel that he’s going to be OK if he uncurls himself from the bathroom floor and gets up. 

“Christ, I need a cigarette,” he mutters.

He automatically reaches into his pocket for his usual packet but there’s nothing there. He pulls his hair off his face with a shaking hand and pushes himself off the bathroom floor, catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror as he does.

He looks fucking _wrecked_. There’s snot and tears smeared across his face and his eyes are red and bloodshot. But aside from the physical surface imperfections, there’s something else in his expression that wasn’t there before. 

It takes him a few seconds before he realises its blind fear.

~*~*~

Frank almost turns his entire apartment upside down before he has to resign himself to the fact that he simply does not have any cigarettes in his flat. From force of habit, he keeps patting down his pockets, like he’ll miraculously find a hidden box he’s missed.

He frowns. Something about that isn’t right but his brain still hasn’t quite caught up from the earlier revelations and quite honestly, Frank’s quite happy to coast along in ignorance and not think about how simply _wrong_ it is that he doesn’t have any cigarettes in his flat at all. Instead, he simplifies the problem; He wants a smoke. He has no smokes. Therefore, he has to go out and get some. 

He grabs his coat off the edge of the sofa from where he’d thrown it earlier when he got in; it’s a simple enough mid-length military-style grey coat. There’s nothing particularly fancy about it and the only extra decoration on it is the usual black X in a box on all the arms of fucking every piece of clothing Frank owns here. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and heads out the door.

After a bit of walking, he finds a BLI convenience store a few streets away from his apartment. The man behind the counter smiles inanely at Frank and wishes him “have a better day” when Frank hands over his BLI ID to pay for the cigarettes , which is just far too annoyingly appropriate considering the day he’s having so far. The cigarettes cost 6 credits, which seems oddly expensive and even more bizarrely, the packet Frank receives has a fine layer of dust on it (although it’s no surprise at all that the packet itself has the BLI logo stamped over it).

It’s almost as if... as if cigarettes aren’t really in high demand here, which is daft because people are always addicted to these things –

Except – and this is a pretty big ‘except’ – Frank’s suddenly realised something. He hasn’t had a single cigarette in this world so far. And more than that, he hasn’t even really been craving one up till this point. 

_There’s something in the water!!_ screams a panicked voice in his head.

He dismisses the thought. He’s being paranoid. 

But... it is a bit weird. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he’s not paying attention to where he’s going until he turns down a street and realises he has no fucking clue where he is. 

“Fuck!” he hisses. His voice echoes as he looks up and down the unfamiliar street. 

There’s not even anyone else around to ask. No pedestrians on the sidewalks. No cars on the road. It’s not even dusk. He looks up at the buildings that line the streets; there are lights on in nearly every window. 

A new thought suddenly occurs to Frank; what if there’s a curfew? He’s read enough dystopian totalitarian state novels to know that most of them keep tight control on the general populace. 

“Fuck!” he says again.

The back of Frank’s neck tingles and he turns around. The street is still completely deserted but he can’t shake the feeling he’s being watched. Somewhere in the distance, he hears the sound of a car’s engine.

He shouldn’t be here. 

He takes a step backwards, and then another, and before he knows it, he’s turning around and practically sprinting back the way he came. 

“Kid, you shouldn’t be here!”

A voice reaches his ears and Frank freezes. 

“Well, I needed to check in, didn’t I? Get all the latest gossip from Battery City’s most reliable newsman.” 

Another voice, lower than the first. Whoever they are, they’re clearly not talking to Frank.

“You still shouldn’t have come into the city. It’s getting more and more dangerous!” 

Frank looks towards the alleyway a few feet away from him. With a sinking feeling, he realises he recognises one of the voices. Instinct is telling him to run, to go home, to pretend he was never here. Curiosity, on the other hand...

“Pfft, danger. We’re in danger days already.”

Frank peers around the edge of the alleyway. He can’t see the people talking clearly but there’s a dumpster a little of the way down it that he could hide behind. As quietly as he can with his back pressed firmly against the wall, he edges his way closer, careful not to knock into anything and give himself away. 

“That sounds like one of Party’s motos,” Ray Toro is saying to an incredibly skinny guy in a red jacket. Ray has his back to where Frank’s hiding but even if Frank hadn’t recognised his high-pitched voice, his hair would have given it away completely anyway. It’s not scraped back in the usual ponytail he keeps it in at work but instead has exploded into the afro Frank remembers so well from school. 

The skinny guy laughs and pushes his sunglasses up his nose where they’ve slipped down. “Probably is. If it’s not, I’m taking full credit for it... So. News?”

“Nothing much,” Ray says with a shrug. “The Dracs are furious about the failed raid last night. Haven’t seen Korse much around the building which means he’s either locked up in the Testing Room 6 or he’s out in the Zones –”

“Neither of which are particularly good,” the guy adds.

“Exactly. How’s things out in the Zones? What happened to the camp?”

“They’re all good; we managed to relocate the entire camp Briar Rabbit’s Workshop in Zone 3 as a temporary location. He’s not too happy about it though, you know how he is.” (Ray nods.) “Anyway, we’re moving them all out bit by bit until we’ve got a new location properly secured. Seriously, whoever gave us that tip off... we owe them big time. Any luck finding out who it might have been?”

“Nope. And my job’s suddenly got a whole lot more difficult with how Fra- Iero’s been acting.”

Frank’s stomach jolts. What?! Why are they talking about him?!

The guy frowns. “Is he still acting up?”

“That’s putting it mildly. I think... I’m not sure. Either he’s detoxing or they got to him.”

“What?!” Frank mouths. 

The guy snorts. “Are you sure?”

Ray nods – even from where Frank’s hiding, he can see the moment magnified by Ray’s hair. 

“It’s the way he talks... it’s like he’s completely oblivious to... well, everything. He’s blatantly not on the pills but he’s not even trying to hide it and he doesn’t even seem to realise how dangerous that is.” Ray puts his hand to his forehead. “I really can’t figure him out. How he talks to me... it’s almost as if... well, you know... never happened.”

“So you think BLI wiped him?” 

Ray shakes his head. “They would have put him on the pills if they had, and... well, something’s not right with him anyway. In the company, I mean. The way the Draculoid’s are around him... some of them openly threatened him a few days ago. I’ve never known Dracs to be so blatantly rude to someone of a higher rank. None of it makes sense. I think... I think something might have happened during that fight with Fun Ghoul.”

The guy makes a “hmm” noise. 

“He’d have been reassigned immediately if they thought he wasn’t useful anymore,” the guy says.

“No, true... Except... I don’t get why they’ve put him on desk duty. He could easily be up in surveillance but instead they’ve got him logging files in a sealed room.”

“Do you think they’re keeping him out the way?” 

Ray shrugs. “I have no idea... all I know is that -”

“It doesn’t add up,” the guy finishes.

There’s a small pause. Frank tries not to fidget uncomfortably but from where he’s crouched down behind the dumpster, his legs are starting to go numb. 

“What about Fun Ghoul?” Ray asks. “Have you heard anything from him?”

The tall guy in the red jacket shakes his head. “There’s nothing. We’ve been trying to locate him but there’s no sign of him. It’s worrying; he normally checks in via Briar Rabbit every other day or so, but even he’s gone quiet on the subject.”

“Iero’s saying he killed him – Ghoul, that is, not Rabbit.”

“I’ve heard. Wouldn’t surprise me, it’s probably the kind of high-profile kill Iero needs to get himself another boost up in Scarecrow.” There’s no mistaking the venom in the guy’s voice, and Frank’s half-tempted to jump out and demand to know what the hell this guy’s problem is. “But then where’s the body?”

“Probably under a Drac mask right now,” Ray says but then winces, like he immediately regrets the words. “Any luck identifying who his accomplice was?”

“None. Dr Death put out a call with the description but no one’s come forward.”

“And... how’s Party?”

Frank blinks. Wait... Party? As in... Party Poison??

“He’s... he’s not happy. He doesn’t like how Fun Ghoul’s gone quiet. He’s fearing the worst. We all are.”

Ray nods. “Tell him we’re keeping our eyes and ears open here.” 

“Keep Iero out the Zones, OK? I do not have time to deal with that asshole and if Party happens to meet him... well. It won’t end well.” 

Frank’s head is reeling. Party Poison wants him dead. Ray and this guy are in league with Party Poison. 

The gears whirl in Frank’s head and the penny suddenly drops. 

Oh. This guy. It’s _Kobra Kid._

“I’m just worried that he’s going to do something stupid. Or reckless. Or both,” Kobra Kid says, massaging his temples with his fingertips. “He thinks Iero knows something and with the mood he’s in right now, I don’t want him intentionally going out looking for an Exterminator, especially that Exterminator. It’s bad enough Party’s got Korse chasing him down already –”

“Just tell him to stay out the city, OK?” Ray says. “At least until we’ve figured out what side Frank’s on.”

Kobra Kid snorts. “We know what side Iero’s on. He made that one perfectly clear. And getting in and out the city... Easier said than done – how do you think I got here?!”

The thought that Frank’s being mistaken for being on the same side as a wanted terrorist makes him want to yell out and correct them but he manages to stop himself in time. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to hear this. Anything that could implicate him in... whatever it is that Ray’s mixed up in isn’t worth knowing. As quietly as he can, he starts to move back towards the main street. 

And then, as he steps out the alley, he sees them. 

Coming round the corner are three Draculoids. 

Frank looks back down the alley to where Ray and Kobra Kid are still talking, oblivious. 

OK, so maybe Ray’s connected to Party Poison and it’d be the right thing to do to hand him over to the police... but there’s still something about the Draculoids that Frank really doesn’t trust. In a split second, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his new pack of cigarettes and throws it as hard as he can in Ray’s direction. It hits the back of Ray’s head with a loud thunk –

“Hey, Iero!!” 

One of the Drac’s calls out to Frank. 

“Fuck!” Frank hisses, scrabbling to his feet. He doesn’t have time to think. He turns and runs. 

“Hey Iero!! Where you going?!” 

He’s not sure where he’s running but he can hear the Dracs behind him give chase, yelling delightedly. His feet pound against the pavement and his breath is already coming in gasps. He runs, taking random turns down sidestreets, trying to lose his pursuers –

Frank skids to a halt. 

“FUCK!” 

He’s run straight down a dead end. He stares up at the buildings surrounding him, looking for a window to climb into or a fence to hop but he’s literally boxed in. The three Draculoids have already caught up with him, casually walking down the middle of the road towards him. He can’t see their faces under the masks but he can imagine they’re grinning. 

“So... nice night,” Frank says, breathing heavily. 

“Yeah... I mean, we were just on patrol and what do we find?” the tallest one says – and fuck, Frank realises it’s the same three who threatened him in the canteen a few days ago. “Why, we find ourselves our favourite Grade 5 Scarecrow!”

“Where’s your raygun, Iero?” Pink-Mouth asks. 

Frank suddenly realises they’re all holding guns. White, futuristic-looking guns but unmistakably guns. 

“It’s like my cock. Unlike you three, I don’t feel the need to get it out and wave it around constantly,” Frank snaps, then immediately mentally winces. Mouthing off to three loaded lunatics looking for a fight probably isn’t the smartest move. 

“Shame. Would have made this all a lot more fun,” the tallest says. “Still, you ran from us. Know what that means?”

Frank swallows down a number of retorts. His heart is hammering against his rib cage. 

“It means you’ve got something to hide,” the Drac continues. “Which means you’re not on our side. Which means –”

Simultaneously, all three Draculoids raise their guns and point them at Frank.

He’s suddenly furious. Of all the ways to die, he gets himself fucking gunned down in an alleyway like a fucking animal in a fucking alternate dimension! And by what? By three mask-wearing lunatics that aren’t much more than douchebag thugs who think they’re so badass! Jesus, what a fucking joke. 

“Fuck you,” he snarls. 

There’s a blinding bright light and a loud roaring noise. For one wild second, Frank thinks he’s already died but then he realises it’s actually the headlights of a car coming rapidly up behind the three Draculoids.

Frank dives out the way at the same time as the three Dracs realise what’s happening. Two of them manage to get out the way in time; Pink Mouth doesn’t. He bounces off the bonnet of the car and lands next to where Frank’s lying on the pavement, and doesn’t move. The car screeches to a halt and the passenger door flies open.

“Get in!!!” a scratchy voice yells from inside the car. 

Frank scrambles to his feet and practically throws himself inside; the car’s already reversing at breakneck-speed out the alley as Frank pulls the door closed. He catches a glimpse of the remaining two Draculoids running after the car, their guns out and about to fire, but then the car rounds a corner and roars off down the road, leaving the Draculoid’s long gone behind them.

“Are they following??” the driver yells over the noise of the engine. 

Frank turns around and looks out the rear window. 

“Nope, they’re gone.”

He sinks back down in the seat, adrenaline and relief rushing through him as the car speeds through the streets of Battery City.

“You OK?” the driver asks. “I saw them chase you down, thought you needed a hand.”

The street lights whizzing past outside illuminate cars interior. Frank looks over to his savour, entirely grateful, at the same time as the driver looks at him –

Icy cold horror fills him.

A blue leather jacket with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Red, greasy hair. A yellow mask. 

At the same time as Frank screams “Fuck, you’re Party Poison!!” Party Poison sees the black X on Frank’s sleeve and yells “Fuck, you’re Scarecrow!!” 

“Look man, I’ve just saved your life, you owe me at least that!!” Party Poison says quickly. 

“I’m sorry, don’t kill me!!” 

There’s a pause.

“... What?!” both men say in unison. 

Party Poison is gripping the wheel of the car incredibly tightly. 

“Look, I’m just going to drop you off here and we can forget this ever happened –”

“No!! Don’t leave me alone out there, what if they come back!?” 

Panic is clearly not helping Frank think clearly. However, if he has to pick between three Draculoids who want him dead and very nearly just succeeded, and a wanted terrorist also wants him dead but hasn’t tried to kill him yet, Frank’s going with the latter.

“You shoot them!” Party Poison says as if it’s obvious.

“With what?!”

“Your... gun?” Party Poison looks over quickly at Frank, sounding confused. 

“I don’t have a gun!” 

Party Poison slams the breaks on; the car screeches to a stop in the middle of the road. Frank’s terrified he’s going to kick him out into the street.

“What do you mean, you don’t have a gun?! How can you not have a gun?!” Party Poison asks, and there’s a note of genuine hysteria in his voice. “Are you fucking with me?!”

“No!!” Frank cries desperately, holding open his coat to show he’s unarmed. “I don’t have a gun!!” 

Why _doesn’t_ he have gun?! Everyone else here seems to have a gun. Why isn’t he carrying one?!

“Please, don’t – don’t leave me here,” Frank says, looking around the streets. “I – I don’t know where I am.”

Underneath the mask, Frank can see Party Poison’s eyes are wide as he stares at Frank. For a few seconds, there’s a horrible silence in the car and Frank’s genuinely not sure what outcome he wants. 

Party Poison starts up the car again.

“OK, I’m going to drop you off on the street where I found you, alright?” he says, turning the car around. “The Dracs should be gone by now – can you get home quickly from there?”

“Err, I... I don’t know. I’m not sure where you found me.”

“Motherfucker!! I’m not a fucking taxi cab!!” 

Frank shrinks back into the seat. Any second now, this guy is going to pull over and throw him out... 

Or shoot him, even!! Fuck, he’s in a car with _Party Poison_ , the same guy who’s trying to take down Better Living Industries, and also the same guy who apparently wants to kill Frank for ‘exterminating’ Fun Ghoul!

“OK, what street do you live on??” Party Poison asks. He sounds stressed but Frank’s not sure why; after all, _he’s_ not the one who’s entire survival depends on not saying the wrong thing right now. 

Frank tells him. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest he can feel it in his throat.

“Right. I’ll take you to the end of that road. I swear, if this is some kind of trap though, I will not hesitate to shoot you. Do you understand?!”

Frank nods, too scared to say anything else. 

They drive in silence for a while. The seconds tick by like hours. Frank half expects Party Poison to ask him his name or something like that but he stays silent.

“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” Frank mutters, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips and staring out the window. He thinks mournfully of the pack he threw at Ray; he didn’t even get to open the fucking thing. 

Out the corner of his eye, he sees Party Poison look over at him quickly but says nothing. 

When the car slows and pulls up at the side of the road, much to Frank’s surprise, he recognises it as his own. He was half expecting Party Poison to dump him out in front of the next group of Draculoids they came across. 

“This never happened, Scarecrow. You got that?” Party Poison says in a low voice. “I was never here.”

Frank nods and fumbles to get the door open.

“Thanks,” he manages to squeak out. “Seriously.” 

His legs don’t feel like they’ll support him but somehow, he gets out the car, and now he’s not being blinded by the headlights, he sees that it is indeed Party Poison’s incredibly distinctive, graffitied 1979 Trans Am. In a daze, he manages to navigate his way into his apartment building, up the stairs and into his own home. He slams the door shut behind him, bolts the lock and sinks down onto the floor. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... Fuck!”

He pulls his fingers through his hair, trying to process what’s just happened. Apparently, he just got a free ride home from Battery City’s Most Wanted. 

Right. 

Well, at least that broke monotony. 

Slowly, he gets back to his feet, leaning against the wall. The damp patches under his arms feel horrible and the high-collar of his shirt is really cutting into his neck, so he unbuttons it and pulls it off over his head. Having to spend so much time covering them up, Frank always loves seeing his tattoos in all their glory; the sight of the familiar shapes and colours always manages to calm him down or cheer him up. 

It still feels too hot and stuffy in his apartment though, so he pushes open the window as far as it will go. The cool air feels nice against his skin, drying the sweat. He looks at the shirt in his hand; it’s soaked. 

“Right, laundry,” he murmurs to himself.

It’s only when he gets into the kitchen and looks at the usual spot where his washing machine is at home that he realises he apparently doesn’t have one here.

“Huh,” he says. “That’s... odd.” 

How the hell does he do laundry?! Maybe if water’s in such short supply then people can’t have individual washing machines. There must be a laundrette around somewhere but there’s no way on earth he’s risking going out his apartment again tonight.

With a resigned sigh, he chucks the sweaty shirt in the corner of the kitchen and heads back out into the living room –

“AHHH!!”

Party Poison jumps about a foot in the air, startled. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting to be greeted by a scream. 

“How did you get in here?!?” Frank shrieks. 

Party Poison says nothing – he’s staring at Frank’s chest. Even with his mask on, there’s no hiding that his eyes are as wide as saucers. Frank suddenly feels very exposed.

“How did you get in here??” he asks again, trying to cover himself with his arms as best he can. “Get out before I call –”

... Who, exactly? The cops? Do they even exist in this world?

“Well, just get out!!” Frank finishes, somewhat lamely. 

There’s a long pause. Party Poison is still staring at Frank’s bare skin.

“You have tattoos,” he says eventually, sounding a little bit simple. 

“Yes, I have fucking tattoos!! How did you get in here?!”

Party Poison gives his head a small shake.

“The window,” he says. “You left this in my car.”

He reaches into his pocket and chucks something across the room; it lands at Frank’s feet, face-up. His BLI ID tag.

Fuck.

“So... You’re Frank Iero,” Party Poison says. 

Frank suddenly sees the holster strapped to Party Poison’s leg. There’s a bright yellow gun poking out of it. 

“Relax, I’m not going to shoot you unless you do something stupid,” Party says, seeing where Frank’s looking. “Although really, I would have thought you’d already be keeping your gun strapped to your chest at all times, seeing as the ones on your back aren’t doing you much use.”

Party’s eyes dart to Frank’s chest again at the chest-piece of a bomb in roses that he never quite got round to getting finished. Frank thinks about the guns he has tattooed on his lower back and wonders how the fuck Party Poison knows about those, as he hasn’t turned his back on him at all so far.

“What do you want then?” Frank asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. You answer honestly and I’ll go without any fuss. You lie and... well. You can guess. So, think you can do that?”

“You’re not really giving me much choice.”

“True, true. Well, let’s begin. Number one – Did you kill Fun Ghoul?”

Frank groans. That’s it. He’s going to die. 

“I shot him.” 

“But did you kill him?” 

“Depends on how strong his chest muscles are at reflecting bullets.”

_Really Frank, is NOW the time to get an attitude??!_ screams a voice in his head. 

A muscle in Party Poison’s jaw twitches. 

“OK, Number Two – What did Fun Ghoul look like?” 

Frank stares at the red-haired man in disbelief. 

“You’re seriously asking me that?! Surely you already know that!”

“The real question is, do you?” Party Poison folds his arms. “Or did you just happen to get some kid who’s just bragging about being Fun Ghoul.”

Frank blinks. That’s actually a fair point. 

“I – I know who I got. And he was - hang on – you really don’t know what he looks like, do you?”

“What? Course I do –”

“No you don’t. I’ve seen the files,” Frank says, his mind working at a million miles an hour. “He’s never been arrested, no one even knows who he might be and he’s only listed as a ‘possible’ associate to everyone else. Your people only had contact with him through Briar Rabbit, Fun Ghoul checks via that guy and then he reports to you, I heard – someone - say it!!” (He stops himself in time; revealing that he overheard Kobra Kid would just cause one too many questions.) “You’ve never actually met Fun Ghoul, have you!?”

Party Poison looks murderous but Frank knows a victory when he sees one. 

“Alright!!” he admits. “He was just a contact. But he was a fucking good one to have.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “I don’t think any of you guys could be classified as ‘good.’”

“Could you?!” Party asks, sounding incredulous.

“I’m not Battery City’s most wanted terrorist.”

“The majority opinion isn’t always the correct one, Iero,” Party says with a nasty sneer. 

“Just fuck off already, would ya?!” Frank snaps. He’s not sure if this recklessness is a delayed adrenaline rush or if his fear’s just worn off but either way, he wants this man gone now. 

“Fine! One more thing. Tattoos. You have them.”

Frank rolls his eyes. 

“YES. Jesus, haven’t you ever seen a man with sleeves before?!”

“Not one who’s working for BLI. It’s against company policy – you should have gotten rid of those years ago.”

“Well, I like my ink,” Frank says, folding his arms somewhat defensively. “Besides, I keep it hidden; who’s it hurting??”

“It’s art,” Party Poison says softly. He steps towards Frank and, as if hypnotised, lightly takes one of Frank’s arms between his fingers, holding it out so he can see the designs properly. Frank doesn’t try to resist. “This... this is beautiful. The colours, the shapes, the pain...”

His fingers trace over the Our Lady of Sorrows design on Frank’s forearm. 

“It’s so brutally honest and true.”

Frank gulps. There’s a weird lump in his throat and his skin tingles where Party Poison’s meets his. Every nerve in his skin suddenly seems brightly alert like a live wire. Up this close, he can see just how vivid a shade of red the terrorist’s hair is and the dark brown roots starting to poke through. He can see the stubble lining his jaw. He can smell gasoline and sweat. 

“And... completely forbidden.” Party Poison grins and flicks Frank’s nose. The pain is sharp and sudden and it makes Frank’s eyes water. 

“You’re not taking the pills, are you?” Party says, sounding triumphant.

“What?!” Frank asks, clutching his nose. He wants to ask what fucking pills and why everyone here seems so obsessed with them but then Party Poison’s lips are pressed against his and that line of questioning goes completely out the window. 

It’s an aggressive kiss but Frank’s initial hesitation is more out of shock than repulsion. Party Poison persists and pushes Frank – he feels his bare back slam into the cold wall, and then Party’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him down, their lips never separating. Party Poison’s body is already invading the space between Frank’s legs, one raised up on the floor, the other stretched out while his hands flail useless at the side, and oh -the heat radiating from Party Poison’s body is just _fantastic_. On its own traitorous accord, Frank’s arm wraps around Party Poison’s torso, pulling him in closer and holding him there, savouring the feel of another physical body - it’s been far too long since he was last with someone. Party Poison’s fingers are lacing through Frank’s hair and tugging and when he bites down on Frank’s bottom lip, Frank can’t hold back the gasp that escapes from deep down in his chest; Party Poison’s tongue is already exploring the furthest corners of his mouth. He tastes like coffee and cigarettes and something Frank can’t quite put his finger on; he wants to say dirt and desert dust but he’s not sure if that makes sense. 

Just as abruptly as it begins, it ends. Frank blinks a few times, trying to process what the fuck has just happened. His mouth is wet and swollen, and his chin feels prickly from where Party Poison’s stubble scratched. 

“You’re not taking the pills,” Party Poison says again. 

Frank’s not sure how that response quite answers his question. He’s also not sure what’s causing the sparkly lights that seem to be flashing in front of his eyes. 

Party Poison rocks back on his heels, crouching in front of Frank slumped against the wall. Matted strands of crimson hang down over his face, contrasting with the vivid yellow mask that keeps his eyes completely in shadow, and there’s a triumphant smirk twisting his lips. 

He looks feral. Wild. Dangerous. 

“Wh- what?”

“You’re not taking the pills,” Party Poison says for the third time. “You don’t taste the same.”

“The same as _who_?!”

“Everyone else.” There’s such a casualness in the way this is said, Frank’s not sure he likes it. “The pills... it’s something to do with how they control you, an unexpected side-effect. They literally leave a bad taste in your mouth. The people who are taking them have a metallic taste to them. You don’t.”

Frank’s head is still reeling and now he feels like he’s just been kicked in the stomach too. That was all an experiment?!

And wait – 

“The pills – they _control_ you??” Frank squeaks out.

“Of course!” Party says, like it’s obvious. “You must have realised, everyone does once they stop taking them.” Off Frank’s blank look, Party rolls his eyes. “They control your emotions. Emotional sedation, memory suppression... is any of this ringing any bells?!”

Frank suddenly remembers the graffiti on the wall of the pill with a cross underneath; of the vending machine at work that gives out free pills; of the friendly voice that asks if he’s taken his medication today.

“And... Better Living Industries is behind this??”

Party Poison stands up, looking down at Frank in confusion. Frank makes no attempt to get up.

“Jet Star was right... there is something wrong with you,” he says, though it seems more to himself than to Frank. 

(“And who the fuck is Jet Star?!?” Frank thinks.)

He crosses the floor and he’s got one foot on the window ledge – Frank almost cries out “don’t go!” but stops himself in time – when he pauses and looks back. His body is framed in the window and in the background behind him, the night sky and city lights bleach out the colour as he looks at the floor. 

“I’m not done with you, Iero. You’ll be seeing more of me very soon... but I wouldn’t go around trying to set any traps. If word gets out about your art treachery and pill defiance... well. You can probably guess.”

And Frank can. The words ‘promotion’ and ‘job for life’ aren’t featured. 

“Oh, and also...” Party Poison suddenly turns his head and looks at Frank with the most devastatingly beautiful and inhumane smile he’s ever seen in his life. “No one - and I mean no one - on the pills would kiss like that.”

He reaches into his pocket and throws something else to Frank (whatever it is, it lands halfway across the room) and then there’s a small whooshing sound as Party Poison jumps out the window. 

Out the goddamn window, like he thinks he’s fucking Batman or something. 

Frank’s not sure how long he sits there on the floor for, staring at the window. He’s half expecting to see Party Poison reappear in it, terrified, disappointed and relieved all at once when he doesn’t. 

He’s just been kissed by Battery City’s most wanted and dangerous criminal.

And worse still... he liked it. 

“Fuck,” he hisses (which is apparently his word for the night).

He scrabbles across the floor to see what Party left for him; a laugh escapes out his mouth that sounds slightly hysterical as he realises it’s a cigarette.

~*~*~

Waking up back in his own reality, Frank’s immediate reaction is relief. He’s back in his own boring, sweet, _glorious_ world where nothing exciting ever happens, where he doesn’t have terrifying criminals breaking into his flat and holding him to ransom and kissing him... He’s in such a daze that he completely fails to realise it’s Saturday until he gets to the office and realises the doors are locked and there’s no one else around.

“Shiiiitt!!” he wails pathetically, dropping his bag onto the pavement. He’d quite like to drop down to his knees as well in a completely over-dramatic manner but he’s pretty sure there’s CCTV around here and to the casual observer, it’s just going to look like he was that desperate to come to work.

Lifting his chin, Frank hoists his bag up onto his shoulder and leaves the grounds, trying to retain whatever little dignity he has left.

“I’m going fucking mad,” he mutters, trying to avoid the crowds of Saturday shoppers as he heads back towards the high street. “Totally going mad. I’ve killed a man, kissed someone who wants me dead and now I’m forgetting the days of the week.”

A punky, fierce-looking girl nearby with fishnets and lots of facial piercings stares at him with wide eyes. 

He heads towards Starbucks immediately, hoping to see Gerard but the moment he pushes the door open, he knows it’s a lost cause; the queue is barely moving and almost reaches the door, and every table is already occupied by annoyingly fashionable teenagers and mothers with prams. No sign of a weirdly cute greasy-haired comic artist anywhere. Frank scowls but gets in the queue for a coffee to go, figuring he might as well get something out of this day. He’s already pulling a cigarette out his pocket when he leaves, coffee clutches tightly in his other hand, and heads down the high street. He’s still undecided about whether or not to go home or head to the park, when someone carrying lots of bags walks solidly into him, nearly sending him flying to the pavement.

“Watch it asshole!” Frank says angrily at the same time as the person says, sounding rather delighted, “Frank?!” 

Well shit. Now Frank feels like a douche. 

“Gerard!” he says, surprised. “Shit, sorry man, I didn’t realise it was you!”

“Did I spill your coffee??” Gerard asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

Frank checks; a few splashes down his front but nothing too major. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Frank says. “What are you doing here?”

He looks at the three bags Gerard’s carrying; they’re so stuffed full of something that looks soft and squishy that they’re barely closed. They’re probably filled with arty materials or something. They look heavy. 

“Do you want a hand?” he asks.

Gerard’s face splits into a giant smile.

“Do you mean it?? That’d be awesome – I’m just going home, if you could help me get to the bus stop –”

“Well, I’ve got my car parked up nearby – I could give you a lift home if you wanted.”

“Are you serious?? That’d be awesome!! Do you mind??” 

It’s just a lift, Frank thinks. Yeesh, you’d think no one had ever done a nice deed for the man before.

He suddenly thinks back to the impromptu lift he received last night. Well, one good deed deserves another...

“Not at all! Come on, I’ve got nothing planned today!”

He hoists one of the bags off Gerard’s shoulders onto his own, staggering slightly under the weight.

“Fuck man, what have you got in here?!” he asks as they head over to the car park.

“Laundry,” Gerard says with a grimace. “The one closest to our house closed down last month so me and Mikey have been taking it in turns to come into the one here.”

Oh. Mikey. So Gerard lives with another guy. Frank tries not to immediately assume the worst. 

“But then I forgot to go last week,” Gerard continues, oblivious. “I mean, I didn’t mean to but then I had to wait in because I had this delivery of paints that was supposed to be coming to the house and I had to wait for the delivery guy because Mikey just tends to ignore the door if he’s not expecting anyone – it’s the same with the house phone, actually, he never answers it because he figures if anyone’s going to call him, they’ll call his mobile, ya know? Anyway, I had to stay in and by the time the delivery guy showed up, it was too late to go out to the Laundromat and they weren’t open on Sunday for some unknown reasons, so I had to wait until this week!”

They’ve reached Frank’s car by this point. Frank pops open the boot and they dump the bags in. He wonders if there’s any way to find out who Mikey is without sounding like he’s got an ulterior motive. 

“So, what are you doing in town today?” Gerard asks when they’re in the car and Frank’s started driving. 

“I – I kinda forgot what day it was and came in for work,” Frank admits before he has to time to think up a cool reason for being in town. 

Gerard stares at him for a few seconds then bursts out laughing. 

“Oh man, seriously?” 

“Shut up, I’ve had a strange few days!” 

“But seriously, you came in for _work_?” Gerard asks, giggling. He’s got a weird, high-pitched laugh but it suits him. “Do you, like, really _really_ like your job??” 

“Shut up!!” Frank says again. He’s really trying not to smile but Gerard’s laugh is so infectious. “I just messed up the day, that’s all! I had a really weird night.”

“Weird like didn’t sleep well or weird like aliens showed up and started demanding to know the results for last years American Idol?” Gerard asks seriously.

“Weird like aliens showed up, except they were also demanding to know why Buffy the Vampire Slayer isn’t real too.”

“Wow. That’s weird.”

“Yeah. And there also may have been shoot outs and running from Draculoids as well.”

“What are Draculoids? Take a left on the next street.”

“Well, they’re these kind of soldier-type guys. Douchebags who wear masks and go around just a little bit too trigger happy for their own good... and they really don’t like me.”

“Huh. That is weird,” Gerard agrees. Frank glances at him; he’s staring at Frank with a curious smile on his face. Frank wants to ask what he’s smiling at but takes the next left instead.

~*~*~

Gerard’s house turns out to be on a street in the better part of town about half an hour away from the main high street. It’s a surprisingly nice house; Frank was expecting something that looked a bit more suited to a struggling artist, not a middle-class family of four.

“Wow, the rent on this place must be ridiculous,” Frank remarks as they open the boot.

“Nah, it was my grandmothers – she left it to me in her will and I’ve never really wanted to sell it. Hey, you wanna come in for a coffee? Least I could do to say thanks.”

As Gerard opens the door, the first thing Frank notices is the strong aroma of coffee mixed with cigarettes and... is that turpentine? Gerard dumps his laundry bags in the corridor on the floor; Frank carefully puts the bag he’s carrying next to them. 

“Mikey? You in?” Gerard calls up into the house as he pulls off his coat. When he gets no reply, he shrugs. “He must be out.”

“Is Mikey your b –” Frank stops himself from saying ‘boyfriend’ before he makes a fool of himself and trails off awkwardly. 

“Brother? Yeah,” Gerard says absently, then sees Frank’s expression and bursts out laughing. “Nah, Mikey’s my little brother, we live together.”

Frank hopes his face isn’t burning too much as he follows Gerard into the kitchen. 

“So, coffee?” Gerard asks, flipping on a vintage-looking coffee machine. “Sugar, milk?”

Frank nods to both and sits down at the wooden table, looking around the kitchen as Gerard makes the coffee. The kitchen is quite small but there’s a homely, cosy feel to it. Aside from the coffee machine, most the appliances look fairy low-key and there are random pictures and post-its tacked to the cupboard doors and fridge that read things like “ _trash goes on THURSDAY_ “ and “ _Mother War?!_ ” and “ _Mikey – GET NEW PC SCREENS!!! BOSS WILL NOT BE HAPPY IF YOU FORGET AGAIN!_ ” Every surface is covered with some kind of clutter, ranging from books, bits of computers, sketchbooks, hard drives, paints, pencils, guitar picks, tweezers, empty coffee mugs, opened mail, ash trays... 

Frank picks up a teddy bear that’s wearing a little black military jacket. It’s lying amongst all the clutter with its paws sticking up in the air helplessly.

“Gerard, help me!! I’m turning into one of the garbage ladies from Labyrinth!” Frank says in a squeaky voice, making the bear run across the table.

Gerard laughs and sets two steaming mugs of coffee down on two clear patches of the table. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. It’s not dirty, it’s just cluttered,” he explains, sitting at one of the free chairs. 

“Organised mess,” Frank says, taking a sip of coffee; he nearly chokes at how strong it is but Gerard’s drinking his own without any problems.

“Yeah... in theory anyway.”

“So, who’s this little guy?” Frank asks, holding up the teddy.

“He was part of this project I had.” Without any further prompting, Gerard launches into it. “See, a while back, I got commissioned to work on a comic that was supposed to be about these teddy bears that organised parades for sick children... I think it was supposed to be sent out to kids in hospital and stuff, or for some kids cancer charity? Can’t remember... Anyway, it started off OK – they told me to “make it friendly and not scary” so I started thinking about these kids and how they must have been feeling, like wondering if they were going to get better and if they were probably scared of dying, coz, you know, if I’d been in hospital as a kid with cancer, I’d be shit scared. Anyway, I wanted them to feel it wasn’t, you know? So I drew out this whole storyboard – like, the teddy bears and the parade were what came for you when you died, as like this huge celebration of your life and to welcome you to what comes next. Anyway, my publisher had suggested when they gave me the project that I showed how it could be marketable as well, so I made that little guy -” Gerard points to the bear in Frank’s hands “-to show how the kids could have the teddy’s to hug in hospital if they were scared, like actual teddy bear hugs from the bear leading the parade, the one who’d be holding their hand throughout and beyond...” 

Frank stares at Gerard in amazement. 

“You must have made a fortune from that,” he says. 

“Are you kidding?! I’ve never been kicked out a building so fast in my entire life!” Gerard says with a laugh. “Apparently, personifying death in a cartoon for sick kids is ‘grossly inappropriate’ and ‘morbid’.” He shrugs and takes another sip of coffee. “They’d actually wanted something more like a Carebears rip-off with the kids forgetting they were sick and being happy, which is nice, you know, but it’s not really real. I mean, sure, you could try and take your mind off it but I don’t think you should patronise kids or lie to them about how things are going to be perfectly normal and fine when they’re not.”

“Depends on the kid,” Frank says. “I mean, I actually love the idea – I was in and out of hospital all the time when I was a kid and I would have killed for a comic like that – but there’s probably some out there who might want to pretend they’ll be ok.”

“Of course,” Gerard agrees. “But they they’ve got every other kind of distraction for that. I was just trying to put out something that was real. You want lies and someone saying you’ll be fine? Great, go for it; turn on TV and watch the actual Carebears. Read Twilight. Listen to Beyonce’s latest album. But why hide the truth and pretend it’s not there just because it’s ugly?”

Frank grins. “Fair point. Controversial, but fair. Keep it ugly and all.” He raises his coffee cup in a toast and Gerard does the same.

“Keep it ugly,” he agrees.

They slip into silence for a minute or two, sipping their coffee. Frank looks at the bear in his hands.

“You know,” he says, “I don’t think you should give up on this guy. It’s good idea – maybe a few tweaks or something though, like aim it at a different audience?”

“Yeah, my publisher suggested I aim it at the teenage market,” Gerard says with a wince. “But I’d like to see you offer teddy bears to teenagers.”

“OK OK, so change it from bears to people!”

Gerard opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but then stops. 

“... you know, that might actually work,” he says.

“You hadn’t thought of that, had you?” 

“Not exactly...”

“Or at all?” Frank chucks a pen at Gerard playfully. 

“Alright, I hadn’t!” Gerard laughs, deflecting the pen. “You know when you get so wrapped up in something that you can’t step away from it to see the whole bigger picture? Well I just -”

“You just needed a fresh point of view,” Frank finishes. 

Gerard grins. “I just needed you. You’re amazing, Frankie, you know that?”

Frank looks down, but he has a feeling his face is probably about the same shade of red as Party Poison’s hair.

~*~*~

It turns out that Gerard’s got a whole cupboard of paints that need sorting. Frank makes this discovery when he’s trying to find the toilet and opens the door to discover it’s so stacked with paint cans and brushes and all kinds of art paraphernalia that he can’t even see the toilet.

“Really?!” Frank asks.

“Oh God, I wondered what had happened to my empty paint cans,” Gerard groans, poking his head around the door. 

“What do you mean, you wondered?!” 

“Well, normally, I leave them outside the studio door and Mikey -”

“- shoves them in the toilet?!”

So far, Frank has been able to gather that Mikey is some kind of computer-person (seeing as Frank highly doubts that all the spare computer parts lying around the house are to do with Gerard) and apparently is also as lazy a fucker as Gerard when it comes to tidying up.

Gerard bites his lip and looks down. “I never use this toilet actually,” he admits. “There’s one in the basement, next to where I normally work.”

Frank stares at him. “Right, I’m going there to pee, then you and I are sorting this!!”

~*~*~

An hour later and they’ve only managed to make a small dent into the room-of-paint-cans-that-is-supposed-to-be-a-toilet.

“I’m seriously going to kill him when he gets back,” Gerard says, wiping some sweat off his brow. “He said he was taking care of them.” 

Frank had offered up his car to help transport the paint cans to the local recycling point but then they discovered that some of the cans still had paint in them and some of them even had other things stuffed inside, like tiny notebooks, pencils and receipts. As a result, Gerard and Frank had to open and check inside every single can before putting it in Frank’s car. 

“Where is Mikey anyway?” Frank asks, popping the lid off a can and peering inside; thankfully, there’s nothing but dried paint flecks. He chucks it in the ‘to go’ pile.

Gerard shrugs. “Probably band practice. He plays bass – hey, you know, they’ve got a gig coming up next Thursday, you should come!!”

Frank’s heart leaps in his chest at Gerard actually inviting him somewhere before common sense kicks in and the little voice in his head starts screaming _not a date, not a date, not a date!!_ Gerard probably just wants to try and build up the audience a bit.

“Yeah sure, I’ve got nothing planned,” Frank says, trying to sound not bothered, like he’s casually invited to gigs by weird artists every other day. 

“Awesome!! I’ll speak to Mikey, get him to put your name on the guest list!”

Sweet. A free gig. And totally not a date. 

Frank reaches for the nearest can to him which turns out to be a terrible idea as there’s an ominous-sounding noise and everything shakes, and then with a tremendous clatter, an avalanche of paint cans and boxes falls down on them. He hears Gerard yell somewhere over the roar of clutter.

A few seconds later, there’s an odd sort of stillness. Frank’s lying on the floor, buried under art supplies.

“Frank?!” Gerard’s voice comes through sounding incredibly panicked. “Oh God, did I kill you?! Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead!!”

“I’m ok, I’m ok!” he calls out, pushing papers off his head and sitting up. Miraculously, he’s not injured; he might have a few bruises tomorrow morning but there’s no broken bones or head wounds. His clothes and skin feel oddly wet and cold though. He looks down –

“Shit!!”

His plain work shirt has been completely re-dyed.

“Oh my God Frank, are you ok?!?”

There’s a loud clatter of tins being shoved aside as Gerard’s suddenly there, crouching next to Frank with –

“What? Why are you laughing? Are you laughing at me??” he asks.

“Nope, not at all,” Frank laughs. He waves an ink-splattered hand in Gerard’s direction. “That’s a good look for you.” 

Gerard stares at Frank, completely confused until he looks down at himself. Like Frank, he’s covered in a Technicolor wash of inks and paints and somehow, what looks like an entire tubs worth of red paint had been dumped on his head; giant bright-red drips are streaming down his face.

“I seriously hope that’s paint and not blood,” Frank says and on impulse, reaches out and wipes away with his hand some of the paint on Gerard’s face. It’s like a bolt of electricity at the contact; Frank suddenly has the urge to lace his fingers through Gerard’s hair, pull him in and –

Frank retracts his hand like he’s been burnt. He focuses on other things, like the way there’s splatters of blue ink dotted on Gerard’s lip; the way there’s red paint rolling down the side of Gerard’s neck and under the edge of his t-shirt; the way the paint in his hair gives a vivid red sheen to it...

“That actually suits you,” Frank blurts out, sounding surprised. “Like, red hair.”

Gerard laughs and tugs at a section, looking at it.

“Nah, should be brighter if you’re gonna do it. Really make a statement, ya know?”

“Make a statement?!” Frank snorts. “What are you, fifteen?! Fuck the establishment, man, I’m anti-conformist!!”

“Fuck you!” Gerard says, but he’s smiling. “I meant if you’re gonna do something like dye your hair a blatantly unnatural colour, you might as well do it properly and make it really bold and obvious!”

“Yeah right! You can’t fool me, you’re one of those weirdo-modern-artist-types who’s always got some kind of issue with society!”

“Damn, you’ve seen right thought me. And I thought I hid it so well...”

Frank laughs. This feels a bit like flirting, although he could be wrong; it’s been a while since he’s had anyone to flirt with.

“We look like we’ve escaped from a Jackson Pollock canvas,” Gerard mutters, tugging at a strand of his paint-dyed hair. 

“We look like a unicorn threw up on us,” Frank corrects.

Gerard frowns, then reaches onto a nearby shelf. He grabs a packet of something and before Frank can say anything, he’s poured it all over him. Frank coughs, splutters, trying to escape from whatever toxic powder Gee’s just attacked him with –

Glitter. 

“ _Now_ you look like a unicorn threw up on you,” Gerard says with a triumphant smile. It’s a triumphant, dorky and utterly adorable smile. Frank should be annoyed at him. Instead, he finds himself fixated on Gerard’s lips, on his weird tiny teeth, on how Frank can see his tongue poking through the gaps and Frank’s suddenly wondering what Gerard’s mouth tastes like, what his tongue would feel like against his own... 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Frank mutters darkly, shaking glitter out his hair. “If anyone else tried that on me, they’d find themselves with their heads bashed in by paint cans right now.”

“Aww, you think I’m pretty?” Gerard flutters his eyelashes in a completely ridiculous way. He laughs and holds out his hand. “Come on, we need to get you naked – before that ink completely ruins your shirt. I’ve got some clothes you can borrow.”

There was definitely a deliberate pause after ‘naked.’

This is definitely flirting. 

Mentally, Frank throws up the victory arms.

~*~*~

Gerard offers Frank a clean (“well, I _think_ it’s clean”) black t-shirt to wear so they can put his shirt in to soak.

“I’m so sorry Frankie,” Gerard says, clearing old brushes out the paint-splattered sink to fill it up. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll pay to get it dry cleaned or get you a new shirt –”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Frank says as he unbuttons his shirt. His fingers slip on the buttons slightly, purple ink making them tricky to get a grip on. “We’ll try this and if the shirt’s fucked, I’ve got a whole cupboard full of them at home.”

And then some. 

“Still...” Gerard frowns worriedly. The sink slowly fills up as he bends down under it, rooting around for some soap and as he does, his t-shirt rucks up to reveal the pale slice of skin between his shirt and the top of his jeans where his black boxers poke over the edge. Frank averts his eyes and does not imagine what the rest of Gerard looks like under the shirt.

He’s probably not ripped, Frank thinks. Just looking at the guy, you can tell he’s not the kind to spend all his time at the gym... or really, any of his time. He’s kinda chubby actually and his face is a bit weird-looking, and Frank’s pretty sure he’s never seen him with clean hair... he’s not really Frank’s type at all. Frank generally likes his guys ridiculously tall and skinny, very punky with lots of piercings and more like the guy you’d see throwing himself around on stage and never want to take home to your mother. Gerard’s this weird, rambling artist who would probably get murdered if he went near a mosh pit. 

Frank gives his head a shake and slips his shirt off; it sticks to his skin slightly and he can’t help but grin as he sees where the ink has sunk through the material, giving his tattoos a whole new dimension of colour. 

“OK,” Gerard says, standing up and turning around, “I got fabric softener and - WOAH!”

Gerard drops the bottle on the floor and his eyes widen as he stares at Frank.

“You have tattoos!” he says, sounding shocked. “You work in an office and you have tattoos!!”

“Didn’t you see these?!” he asks, waggling his fingers where the words ‘Halloween’ and ‘Bookworm’ are clearly displayed. 

“I did, I did, but I didn’t think you’d have... wow.” He trails off, his eyes roaming over Frank’s chest piece to the birds on his stomach to the designs that cover his arms. “You’re... you’re covered in art, Frankie. Can I?”

He reaches out hesitantly for Frank’s arm which Frank lets him take. He steps in closer to Frank, so close that they’re almost body to body, holding Frank’s arm gently between his fingers and twisting it slightly so he can see the designs. 

“This one’s beautiful,” he says softly, running his fingers over Frank’s Our Lady of Sorrows. 

“It’s a bit ink splattered,” Frank says. His face feels hot and he’s scared to move in case he loses his self control entirely and pins Gerard against the counter or something equally inappropriate. 

“Doesn’t matter, I can still see the colours under it. And the expression on her face, the pain in the details... It’s so raw and honest,” he says. “Did you design it yourself?”

Frank nods. He’s not sure if he can even speak anymore, not without making some weird kind of strangled noise as opposed to actual words. Meanwhile, Gerard’s pressing his hands against Frank’s stomach, pressing out the skin to look at Frank’s birds in more detail.

“What’s that on their eyes?” he asks. He’s bending in so closely that Frank can feel his hot breath on the soft skin of his stomach and Frank can’t help it as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back slightly. 

“X’s on one and a bar on the other,” Frank says, clearing his throat. “They represent... uh... like... an angel and a demon.” 

“Interesting,” says Gerard, slowly standing up. There’s a mischievous grin on his face and Frank realises he is very close. “Do you have tattoos all over you, Frankie?” he asks, very deliberately looking down Frank’s chest. 

“I’ve got one in my mouth,” Frank says, letting Gerard make of that what he wants. He’s pretty sure that this has gone beyond just playful flirting now, but he’s been wrong about this kind of thing before. Gerard doesn’t seem to have much respect for personal boundaries, this could just be part of that. Frank’s heart is thumping loudly in his chest and he’s trying so hard not to shake. 

“Really?” Gerard asks, sounding interested as he wraps his arms around Frank’s neck and then the gap between them is gone and Gerard’s pressing his lips against Frank’s. He’s hesitant initially, like he’s giving Frank the chance to push away but Frank’s already snaking his own arms around Gerard’s waist and crushing his body against his own. 

There’s a loud splash behind them and they break apart. 

“Fuck, the sink!!!” Gerard yells, switching the taps off. The water’s only just started to overflow so there isn’t too much of a kitchen flood. 

“So...” Frank says with a grin, mopping up some water with paper towel. “Really didn’t think you’d get me on my hands and knees at this early point.”

“Yeah well, you almost blew it with that lame ‘I’ve got a tattoo in my mouth’ line,” Gerard laughs, dabbing a soggy towel at the floor. Where their skin touches the water, the ink bleeds into it creating faint hints of colour. 

“No no, I seriously have one!” Frank says, pulling down his lip to reveal where he’s got the initials NJ inked in as a subtle tribute to New Jersey.

Gerard’s eyes widen. “Holy... how the hell did they do that?! Actually, no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.” He winces and shudders. 

“What?”

“Needles,” Gerard explains. “I’m not a fan. I mean, I love tattoos and art – especially your stuff, from what I’ve seen – but I just can’t get past the whole needle thing to get one myself.” 

He shudders again. 

“You know, you don’t actually really see the needle –”

Gerard sticks his fingers in his ears. “Nananana, not listening!!”

“BIG BIG NEEDLES!!” Frank yells, splashing Gerard with some water. It’s childish but he can’t help himself.

“So, what other tattoos you got?” Gerard asks loudly.

“A few. I’d have to take my pants off to show you though,” Frank says suggestively. 

“Hey, I’m not that kind of guy!!” 

He looks up and catches Gerard’s eye as they both laugh. Frank can’t resist flicking a few more splashes at Gerard playfully. 

The moment is completely ruined three seconds later when there’s the sound of the front door opening and then slamming.

“Mikey?” Gerard calls out. “Kitchen!!”

Frank looks up in time to see a tall, very thin, lanky man walk into the kitchen. He stops in the doorway, staring down at Frank.

“This is Frank,” Gerard says. 

Mikey says nothing, but continues to stare at Frank through his glasses. Frank suddenly has the distinct impression that Mikey doesn’t like him. 

“Sorry, I’m not normally shirtless or covered in ink,” Frank explains, standing up and drying his hand on his trousers and holding it out. Mikey stares at him, one eyebrow raised. “Well, I am, but not this much! There was a bit of an accident with a bunch of paint cans in the toilet.”

Mikey looks back down the corridor to the toilet and at the paint cans stacked up in the hallway, and the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly.

“Whoops,” he says. He finally takes Frank’s hand and shakes it; his hands are long and cool. “Mikey. Gerard’s brother.”

“Frank,” Frank says, even though Gerard’s already kinda introduced them. “Gerard’s... coffee shop friend.” 

Mikey’s mouth quirks up again as he looks from Frank to Gerard with an odd look. Gerard suddenly goes bright red. 

“Have you got band practice?” he asks.

Mikey nods. “I just came back to get my bass. Nice to finally meet you,” he says to Frank, doing that weird mouth-quirk thing again, and Frank suddenly realises that’s his smile.

Frank’s about to say “you too” but Mikey’s already gone, his footsteps echoing upstairs.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Gerard explains. “It’s nothing personal.”

“‘Nice to _finally_ meet you?’ ” Frank asks, trying to keep the smile off his face.

“Oh shut up,” Gerard says with a laugh. “I met this really cute, awesome guy in Starbucks, you think I’m not going to talk about it?” 

Frank wants to ask just _how_ much Gerard talked about him but decides against it. Instead, he lets his brain focus on the ‘cute’ and ‘awesome’ part and tries not to grin too much.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank’s in such a ridiculously happy _GerardGerardGerard_ daze that when he wakes up in the Better Living Industries world, he doesn’t mind pulling on his starched, dull grey work clothes.

They’d had such an awesome time, Frank thinks happily. Once they’d sorted the remaining paint cans, they’d collapsed onto the sofa and watched repeats of Buffy, and the best part had been how when Frank had snuggled into Gerard’s side and Gerard had put his arm around him, and they had fit together so nicely and-

Frank breaks off his inner monologue, giving his head a small shake. Since when did he turn into a teenage girl?! 

He pulls on his leather gloves to hide his finger tattoos and checks his reflection over in the mirror one last time; his hair is longer and he’s a bit more toned and tanned here, but there’s something else that doesn’t quite look right. He looks a bit closer at his reflection and realises there’s several lines around his eyes he hasn’t noticed before, that his face is a lot more drawn, his cheekbones more pronounced... 

He looks older, he realises with surprise. Subtly, but definitely older. 

He takes one final glance and then shrugs it off. There’s been some kind of horrific disaster here; living though that would be enough to age anyone up.

As he’s walking down the corridor at BLI, heading to his work room, he’s so completely lost in thoughts of Gerard and the possible things they could talk about when he next sees him that he doesn’t notice Ray storming up to him until Ray walks right into him.

“Hey -” Frank cries out but Ray’s already got one hand on his chest, pushing him roughly back and into an empty bathroom. Ray slams the door behind them and locks it, before quickly running along and checking under all the stalls.

“Ray, what the –”

“What the _fuck_ are you playing at?!” Ray hisses. He sounds furious and for a second, Frank can’t think why.

“What do you mean?!” he asks, completely lost- oh. Wait. Right. Frank suddenly remembers his encounter with Party Poison, which would have only been yesterday here.

“What do I – what do _I_ mean?!” Ray asks, sounding outraged. “You’re the one who nearly got himself killed, sulking around Battery City streets, spying on people –”

“Hey, I wasn’t fucking spying on you!! I went for a walk and got lost; it’s not my fault if you happened to pick the most obvious place to have a chat with fucking _Kobra Ki_ -”

“Shhh!!” Ray looks around, his eyes wide. 

“What, they got listening devices in the toilets now?!” Frank snaps.

“They might do.” 

Frank snorts. 

“Look Ray, man, whatever you’re mixed up in, I want nothing to do with it,” he says, keeping his voice down, just in case.

Ray laughs bitterly. “Typical. You’re not getting off so easy this time, you’re already mixed up in it; there’s CCTV all around the city streets. If you think that no one noticed you getting out of Party Poison’s car last night –”

“How do you know about that??” Something that feels like panic is starting to form in Frank’s chest. 

“I’m on the wrong side, remember?” Ray says with a wry smile. “Party told me all about why you wear those gloves and high collars...”

Frank’s stomach suddenly clenches. What else did Party Poison tell Ray?! 

“Listen, I’ve got a message from the Killjoys for you,” Ray says in a low voice, leaning in close. “They want you.”

Frank’s head shoots back. 

“No way. No fucking way.”

“Party said you’d say that. He also said to remind you that you’re not really in a position to argue. Something about not taking the pills and forbidden art...”

“I’m not doing it!! Besides, who’d believe him?!”

“Well, all Korse would have to do would be ask you to open your shirt to prove him wrong. If you refused, it’d immediately give it away.”

Frank gulps. “But – but _why_?!” 

Ray shrugs. “I’m not sure exactly, to be honest. Personally, after everything that happened, I think it’s a _terrible_ idea, but it’d probably be useful to have an inside man at your level. I mean, I can only do so much.”

Frank ignores the part about ‘everything that happened’ and thinks back to how he first met Ray here; snooping around outside Testing Room 6 with a terrible excuse and unbelievable acting. 

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll only be getting yourself in trouble. You think Korse is going to take kindly to you when he finds out that you’ve disobeyed company orders?”

“They’re just tattoos!!” Frank cries, forgetting to be quiet. “How are they so fucking offens-”

He’s cut off abruptly by Ray slapping his hand over Frank’s mouth. 

“It’s art,” Ray says in such a whisper that Frank can barely hear him. “Come on, you know that. Even if it’s just a meaningless tribal design or a star or Chinese symbol, it’s still art. It’s individuality. It’s all the dangerous things.”

He removes his hand and gives Frank a look that clearly says _are you going to be a bit quieter now?_

“But... I don’t get it,” Frank says in a small voice.

And he really doesn’t. His tattoos have no meaning to anyone else other than him; how is that such a bad thing?! He’s used to getting weird looks off strangers in the street; of people pointing at him and immediately assuming he’s dangerous or mentally deranged the moment they see the scorpion on his neck. He’s used to it and he normally doesn’t care. But this... this is something else entirely. 

Perhaps there’s something in Frank’s face, but Ray’s expression suddenly softens. 

“Look, you’re not alone,” he says, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the letters “SL” tattooed on his upper arm. Frank wants to ask what it stands for but Ray keeps talking before he can. “But seriously Frank, you need to figure out what side you’re fighting on. You can’t straddle the divide forever.”

“I don’t want to be with the bad guys,” Frank says, aware of how childish it sounds. 

“Then you’ll need to get rid of those tattoos. And you’ll have to arrest me.”

Frank looks up, horrified, but Ray only shrugs as he rolls his sleeve back down. 

“Hey, you’ve got enough evidence on me. You could have arrested me last night if you’d wanted to. Speaking of, why didn’t you?”

“I – I don’t know. I just... those Drac guys freak me out and I... I couldn’t just let them find you. I’m - I’m not on your side. I just I thought you deserved a chance to run.” 

Ray nods.

“Give the Killjoys a chance,” he says. “They’re very interested in you.”

“Of course they are – I killed their friend,” Frank says glumly. 

Ray smiles, like Frank’s being funny. “Actually, speaking of, that’s one of the things they needed you to do; with your level, you’ve got access to pretty much everything.”

Frank thinks back to the PP Files and how much information was classified about Party Poison. 

“I doubt it,” he says.

“No, seriously. Anyway, that’s one of the things they wanted you to look into; Fun Ghoul and his possible suspects.”

“I checked. It’s all unknown.”

“On the official tangible Files, yes,” Ray explains patiently. “But you’ve got computer access. That’s the stuff that wouldn’t be in the official documented files. It’s why the Killjoys need you.”

Frank frowns. “If I get caught –”

“It’s just research. No one will think anything of it; you’re the one who’s supposed to be hunting the guy down.” 

Frank doesn’t look convinced. Ray sighs. “OK, think of this way; Fun Ghoul is dead. So knowing who he could have been doesn’t really affect anyone, does it?”

“I guess...”

“So, you’re not _really_ doing anything wrong.”

“You know, this is just like when my friends at school tried to convince me smoking was cool.”

Ray laughs. “What happened?”

“Still addicted to this day.”

There’s a small pause. 

“OK, fine, I’ll do it,” Frank says miserably. “I don’t like it, but you’re not exactly giving me a choice here, and I swear to God, if it gets me killed –”

“It won’t,” Ray says with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine. Just find out what you can. That’s all they ask. Oh, and Party said don’t try locking your window or he’ll be forced to come in the main door, which is a lot more visible and obvious.”

Frank groans. “He’s coming over _tonight_?!”

“Maybe not tonight, but at some point in the near future, I’d guess.”

Frank wants to cry. “Why can’t I just relegate what I find out to you and you pass it on to them?!”

“I asked him that,” Ray says with a shrug. “Party’s got his reasons, I guess.”

“I could betray you, you know,” Frank says quietly. “I could tell Korse everything now. I could go and say I kept my tattoos because I knew it’d help me fit in with undercover work, trying to infiltrate your whole organisation.”

“You could... but you won’t,” Ray says with a nod. “Firstly, that’s still too big a risk because you’ve clearly kept them secret; you might not be believed. And secondly, I know you, Iero. You’re a coward at best but you’re not an asshole.” He pauses. “You never were. You tipped me off last night about the Dracs and you won’t turn us in. Not yet, anyway. Party doesn’t think you will either –”

“What about Kobra Kid?”

Ray frowns. “He’s... he’s not convinced. But –”

“Wait wait, what does that mean??” There’s something in Ray’s tone that suggests there’s more to it.

Ray opens his mouth to reply but then checks his watch. “I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to go now.”

He turns away and unlocks the door but before he opens it, he turns back to Frank.

“Hey Frank, if I were you, I’d start thinking up a damn good excuse for what happened last night; you’re probably going to be questioned about it, not to mention have to file a report on the whole thing,” Ray says quickly, and then, just like that, he’s gone and Frank’s alone in a bathroom, feeling far more lost and isolated than ever.

Blackmail. He’s being fucking blackmailed. He walks to his usual work room, trying to keep his facial expression as neutral as ever. All of his good mood from his day with Gerard has completely vanished and he suddenly wishes Gerard was here. Gerard would probably know how to deal with this, he’d probably be able to come up with some brilliant solution that could get Frank out of this. 

Maybe he needs to get out the city, out of its stifling, claustrophobic atmosphere. He could escape out into the Zones, whatever they are. He could run away, get away from this entire mess. Maybe he could even find someone who could help him to stop switching between these universes. 

Gerard would probably have an idea or two, Frank thinks glumly. Gerard, with his amazing knowledge of science fiction, would probably be able to come up with a few theories on how to make it stop. And if not, maybe Gerard could talk to Mikey and get him to come up with something; from all the loose bits of hardware scattered around their house, Frank had gathered Mikey worked with computers and tech; Mikey could probably come up with some kind of machine to staple Frank back into his world... 

Frank freezes outside his work room as a new terrifying thought suddenly occurs to him; not once since he started coming here has he questioned how it happened in the first place. There has not been a single moment where Frank tried to work out what kick started his arrival here. Sure, he questioned why him but never _why_ in the first place or even _how_.

He feels sick and clutches the door handle for support as the walls around him spin. How could he have been so _stupid_?? 

Swallowing down the horrible taste in his mouth, he keys in the code to get the door to unlock. That’s so fucking typical of him, asking the wrong fucking questions, as usual. He’d been so preoccupied with trying to work out how everything in this world worked that he completely missed the most friggin’ obvious clue. 

The door slides open and Frank stumbles inside –

Korse is waiting for him, sitting in Frank’s usual chair like he belongs there.

“AHH!” 

Frank yells in horror and jumps back, crashing painfully into the wall. 

“What are – what are you doing here?!” Frank gasps out. His heart is pounding painfully against his ribcage.

Korse idly waves his hand over the stack of files to be logged and the glass of water that’s always set out for Frank on the desk. He stands up and is a few feet away from Frank in one fluid movement. 

“You tell me,” Korse says coolly, folding his arms and staring at Frank. “Why would I possibly want to speak to you today? Think hard Iero, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Because... because of the incident with Party Poison last night?” Frank tries not to sound as terrified as he feels but the slight tremor in his voice gives him away.

“Very good,” Korse says. “And?”

“I was going to file a report on it today.”

“I’d rather hear it straight from you,” Korse says. He hasn’t blinked since Frank came in the room and the red rings around his eyes are worse than the last time Frank saw him. 

“I – I was – I -Ray Toro!” Frank says, hit with a sudden flash of inspiration. “I’ve been – I’ve been keeping an eye on him for the past week, trying to see if he slips up and divulges anything about the Killjoys; In the PP Files, he’s listed as a possible contact for Kobra Kid. Anyway, just from how he’s been talking, I decided to try and follow him, to see if he had any meet ups or anything. Anyway, I ran into some trouble with some Dracs – Draculoids –” (he corrects himself, just in case Dracs is a fairly obscure term that Korse is unfamiliar with) “- and I – I –"

He takes a deep breath, trying to slow himself down. He’s babbling, which is generally the first sign that someone’s lying. 

“For whatever reason, those Draculoids have a personal dislike of me. They came after me with their guns and I – I panicked. When I saw the car pull up, I got straight in, I didn’t even see it properly.”

His pulse has quickened. Just the thought of those Dracs... their attitudes... their masks... They look ridiculous in the day time but when they’re approaching you down a dark alleyway, they suddenly become all the more nightmarish.

_You OK? I saw them chase you down, thought you needed a hand..._

“Yes, those Draculoids have been neutralised,” Korse says carelessly. “What happened in the car? Surely Party Poison must have realised you were an Exterminator immediately??”

“Yeah, he did... He...”

_Fuck, you’re Scarecrow!!_

“He was a bit shocked. I don’t think he’d realised who I was until I’d got in the car.”

_Look man, I’ve just saved your life, you owe me at least that!!_

“So, what happened?” Korse asks. He blinks once. There’s something reptilian about his stare at Frank tries not to look away from it, despite every fibre in his body screaming to run. 

_This never happened, Scarecrow. You got that? I was never here._

Well, it’s too late to lie about that. They already knew it was Party Poison in the car. But -

_Look, I’m just going to drop you off here and we can forget this ever happened... What do you mean, you don’t have a gun?!! How can you not have a gun?! ... OK, I’m going to drop you off on the street where I found you, alright? The Dracs should be gone by now – can you get home quickly from there??_

Party Poison was determined to get rid of him but he wasn’t going to abandon him at the mercy of the Dracs, even though he knew Frank was an Exterminator, even though he knew Frank was the enemy... 

“We pulled our guns on each other at the same time,” Frank says. He can hear his own voice as though it’s not him speaking. “Like, literally, it was the moment we both realised. We reached something of an agreement – he agreed to drop me off at a safe point from the Dracs and we wouldn’t kill each other. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t just kill me –”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Korse asks.

“He had his gun jammed into my rib cage. If I’d shot him –”

Korse nods. 

“Also, he’s worth more alive than he is dead,” Frank adds. Under his gloves, he can feel his palms sweating. This will either convince Korse he’s telling the truth or reveal he’s lying entirely. “There’s so much we still don’t know about the man, like the whole Killjoy movement and network and who’s connected to who. If he’s dead, that knowledge dies with him.”

For what feels like an age, Korse stares at him with those terrifying, unblinking black eyes which seem to pop out from his deathly pale skin. And then...

He nods once.

“Fascinating,” Korse says in a tone that suggests anything but. “You’re having quite the exciting week Iero.”

“You’re telling me,” Frank says, swallowing nervously.

There’s another tense silence. Frank wants to fidget. His clothes feel like they’re strangling him, the room feels like it’s closing in on him. 

“You still seem a bit tense today,” Korse says, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Have you taken your medication?”

Frank nods.

“I’d take another dose if I were you. Sometimes, in times of greater stress and trauma than usual, the usual amount isn’t enough.” 

Frank nods again. There it is again, the mention of pills and medication. Why is everyone apparently dosed up to their eyeballs here?!

“Actually...” Korse says thoughtfully, then reaches into one of the pockets of his coat and pulls out a small white bottle with the BLI logo stamped on the side. “I’d rather you take one now rather than wait until your break.” 

He pops open the bottle and shakes out a tiny white pill onto the palm of his hand.

“I – I can’t take yours,” Frank stammers out. “The dose –”

“It won’t do much difference. Besides, it’s impossible to overdose on these.”

He holds it out to Frank, the red edges of his eyes tight, like he’s challenging Frank to say no. It’s the only hint of any kind of expression or emotion in Korse’s face.

It’s a test, Frank realises with horror. And if he fails, the consequences will be dire. 

Everything goes into tunnel vision. Before him, Frank can see is Korse’s grey-tinged face, his dark eyes, his pale lips, the grey bags and red lines around and under his eyes. Out the bottom of his view, he sees his own grey-gloved hand reach out. Korse drops the white pill into his outstretched palm, handing him the glass of water from the desk as well. 

Frank looks at the tiny pill in his hand. It’s virtually weightless. He can’t feel it above the leather of his glove. In his other hand, there’s the glass of water.

It’s fucking suicide to take a pill when you don’t know what it does. His throat feels tight, he can hardly breathe anymore. His heart is pounding so hard that he’s pretty sure Korse can hear it. Beads of sweat collect on his forehead and under his clothes, making the material stick to his skin. 

It could kill him. 

But if he doesn’t... Korse will know. Korse will know everything.

He’s hesitating too much.

With a deep breath, he chucks the pill into his mouth and gulps it down quickly with a mouthful of cold water. He doesn’t choke – he doesn’t even taste it. He barely dares to breathe, waiting for the effects – waiting for his heart to stop, waiting for pain, waiting for –

“Excellent. That should help you focus a bit,” Korse says. He doesn’t sound pleased, but he doesn’t sound angry either. “I’ll expect a full write up of your report on your encounter with Party Poison tomorrow.”

He brushes past Frank, who’s staring at the floor.

“Why do the Dracs hate me?”

Korse stops and turns back to look at the shorter man. The words sound oddly flat, like there’s no real curiosity behind them but it’s just a question to be asked. 

Korse shrugs. “Draculoids are the most volatile creatures in this city. They’re lethal and excellent for keeping the people protected but... well. They talk. Rumours fly. They get echoes of their pasts... and after your encounter with Fun Ghoul...” He trails off, looking at Frank intently. 

Frank is still staring blankly at the floor. There’s an odd glazed look over his eyes and his breathing has already noticeably slowed and calmed down.

Korse nods, satisfied. “The ones who attacked you have been neutralised and reassigned. Now, get back to work, Iero. And don’t forget the report.”

The door slides shut behind Korse. Wordlessly, Frank sits down in the chair and turns on the computer, mechanically reaching for the first file to log. He tilts his head to one side slightly as he looks at it, his facial expression completely neutral.

~*~*~

Frank continues his task until lunch time. On the hour precisely, he stops working and calmly stands up from his desk.

“Hey man, where’s your usual coffee?” Ray asks. 

Frank looks down. There’s a bottle of water in one hand and a small BLI pill capsule pod in the other. He’s also now in the canteen. Huh. He doesn’t remember even leaving the room. 

“I didn’t want one,” he says, sitting down opposite Ray.

Ray gives him a strange look. 

“Are you OK?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Frank says calmly. 

Fine isn’t quite the best word, maybe. Everything he’s felt since he first got here; the confusion, the suspicion, the fear; it’s all gone. Perhaps he should be feeling elated at this. Relieved, maybe? But he’s not. He’s not really anything. Detached? Whatever. Frank’s not too bothered trying to work it out. He’s ok with not really understanding anything. He can just get on.

“What’s that in your hand?” Ray suddenly asks.

“I haven’t taken my medication,” Frank automatically says. 

He vaguely remembers his computer screen and a soothing voice reminding him to. Well, why not? The soothing voice could be trusted. The voice would keep him safe. Battery City is the safest place in the world and Better Living Industries keep them all protected. Frank likes being safe. 

Ray’s eyes widen. He looks... Frank tries to think of the word. 

“What happened?!” Ray asks. 

Horrified. That’s the word. Ray looks like something terrible has happened.

“Korse spoke to me when I got into my room,” Frank says. His own voice sounds strange to him. Flat. A complete monotone. “He made me take one of his pills.”

Ray covers his mouth with his hand.

“Oh my God...”

What? Frank wants to ask. It’s the truth. He’s just relayed events as they happened. It’s not that bad. 

He doesn’t though. He doesn’t care enough to find out why Ray’s reacting like this. Instead, he pops the top off the pill pot in his hand and pours out a single tiny white pill onto the palm of his hand.

“Did – did you tell him??” Ray’s gone very pale, Frank notices.

“What?” 

“About – about – about me...” he whispers in a strangled voice.

“No,” Frank says with a blink. “It didn’t come up, I saw no need to mention it.”

Ray looks slightly relieved but then his eyes dart to Frank’s hand.

“Wait,” he says. His hand is suddenly covering Frank’s, covering the pill.

Frank looks up and blinks again.

“I – I don’t think you should take that,” Ray stammers. “It’s – you’ve already taken one of Korse’s and he’s probably on a much higher dose. You don’t want to risk overdosing, do you?”

“It’s impossible to overdose on these,” Frank says simply, pulling his hand out from Ray’s. 

“Still!!” Ray says, his voice suddenly much higher as he talks quickly. “Frank, I – I really don’t think you should be messing with the doses. One pill alone would probably last 12 hours – you really don’t need one now. It’s – it’s just a waste of resources!”

Frank’s hand is almost at his mouth, the white pill nesting safely in his palm.

“You’re right,” he says after a moment’s pause, lowering his hand. “After all, Better Living can’t provide an unlimited supply of everything if we’re so careless.”

Ray lets out a large breath. 

“Yeah... look. Don’t – just don’t take any more of their pills, OK?” 

Frank looks at the one in his hand. He works out the time he’ll need until he can take his next dose. He should have more pills at home. Why wouldn’t he? He lives here. They provide.

“I’ll wait,” he says, with a nod. 

Ray looks like he wants to say something more but –

Frank blinks and he’s back at his desk. 

“Welcome back Frank,” says the computer. “Did you enjoy your lunch? Have you taken your medication?”

“I have,” Frank answers. “Thank you.” 

He picks up the first file, only to notice a pile of completed work to his right. Oh. He must have done that and forgotten. 

He continues his task. Something’s nagging at the back of his mind which only gets stronger as the day goes on. It’s like there’s something he’s forgotten to do but he can’t remember what. 

Worse still, he seems to be having some kind of reaction to something. Underneath the leather glove, the back of his right hand is itching. He rubs at it through the thick leather but it does nothing to alleviate it. Instead, he feels another itch, this time under his jaw. He scratches it...

The itching gets worse as the hours tick by. Random parts of his body suddenly are affected; his hip. The back of his knee. The end of his nose. Under his left foot. His entire scalp. 

Something’s wrong. He should have taken his medication at lunch. He shouldn’t have listened to Ray. Far too late, he realises that scratching only makes it worse. 

Somewhere, he hears a voice in his head whisper one word; _withdrawal_. But that’s impossible. He only had one. He looks up at the clock, trying to work out how much longer he’s got to deal with this until he can go home and take the next dose – Oh. It’s already the end of the day.

He looks at the pile of uncompleted folders except they’ve all been completed. 

“What the –” 

His voice comes out as a whisper. He’s not confused... but there’s something missing. Something that’s been off all day. Like there’s a space in his chest where -

On autopilot, he shreds the completed files, grabs his coat and leaves. 

“Thank you for your work today. Have a Better Day, Frank,” says the computer in that same soothing voice as he leaves.

He sits in the back of the car and tries to not to think of the particularly nagging itch on his forehead. Or his shins. For the first time, doesn’t even try to talk to the driver. When he’s dropped off outside his apartment building, Frank doesn’t say ‘thank you’ or ‘goodnight.’ It doesn’t bother him.

When Frank gets into his spotless apartment, it’s stiflingly hot. He pulls off his gloves and throws them into the far corner of the room (they stand out almost comically, random clutter against the impeccable neatness of the entire flat. Frank’s pretty sure that even the tins in the kitchen cupboard are stacked by height order) unbuttons his shirt midway down his chest and unbuckles his belt. His clothes are uncomfortably tight and pressing against the itch unbearably. He crosses the floor and pushes the window open as far as it can go. For a few minutes, he leans out on the window sill, breathing deeply and letting the cool air gently blow against his skin. It feels refreshing and soothes the itch slightly. 

But only slightly.

He turns back into his apartment. He must keep his medication somewhere here. He has to. It’s BLI policy. He needs his next dose. It must be time for his next dose. He needs his next dose. It must be time for his next dose-

“What the fuck happened in here?!”

Frank looks up and – Oh. He’s suddenly walking out the kitchen. His apartment is completely trashed – every cushion’s been thrown off the sofa, every drawer emptied and contents scattered across the floor - and Party Poison is standing in the middle of it, looking completely bemused. 

Frank looks down at the mess. 

“Did you do this?” he asks.

“I just got here, asshole,” Party snaps. 

“I – I think I was looking for something,” Frank says slowly, idly scratching his forearm.

“You were looking for – shit, what have you done?!” Party suddenly cries out in horror and then he’s in front of Frank, yanking his arm away, stopping him scratching himself. Frank looks down - against the vivid lines of his tattoos, his arm is red raw with a few droplets of blood rising to the surface in places. He must have been scratching it for quite a while...

“How did that happen?” Frank says stupidly. 

“Frank – look at me,” Party says, and suddenly his hands are cupping the sides of Frank’s face. His fingertips are dry and tough, and the rough texture of his leather gloves rubs against the skin of Frank’s jaw in such a way that it almost brings blessed relief from this itch. They’re so close that Frank can see the finer worn details on Party’s mask, where the yellow paint has cracked, where the blue has started to chip, how Party’s hazel eyes are focusing on Frank’s lips... 

Before Frank can question it, Party leans in and kisses him. Frank feels his tongue in his mouth and he doesn’t try to stop him. He doesn’t try to respond. He doesn’t close his eyes. His arms hang motionlessly by his side. 

Party pulls back abruptly. 

“Oh Frankie,” he says, like something terrible has happened. “They got to you.”

There’s something in Party Poison’s voice, in the way he says _oh Frankie_. It’s familiar and Frank can’t think for the life of him why.

“Who did?”

“BLI. You took the pills, didn’t you?”

“Korse gave me one earlier today.” He sees no reason to lie.

“And how do you feel?” Party asks. His hands are still cupping Frank’s face

Frank opens his mouth to answer but then frowns. 

“I – don’t know.”

Party nods, a grim smile on his face. “If you’re confused by that then it’s starting to wear off. Ray said you’d taken something. I didn’t want to believe him but it looks like those bastards got to you first.”

He lets his hands drop and Frank stares at him. 

“How many have you taken?” Party asks. 

“Just the one. I missed my dose at lunch but I – I thought I’d be alright till I got home,” he admits. He doesn’t realise he’s scratching his arm until Party grabs his hand, gripping it tightly. 

“Don’t make me make you wear fucking mittens,” he growls, although there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“I don’t care,” Frank groans, trying to pull his hand free.

“You will when you’ve scratched all that pretty art off your skin,” Party says calmly and –

Frank‘s lying on the ground, the side of his face pressed into the carpet, the heel of Party Poison’s boot pressing into his cheek. 

“- and it’s not even funny anymore,” he’s saying. Frank can feel him yanking and pulling at his wrists as he... is he tying them together?!

“What?! What’s happening?!” Frank cries out.

“What?! You just attacked me, fucker!” 

“No I didn’t!!”

“Yes you did! You just came at me –”

“No I didn’t!!”

Frank squirms, trying to get away – motherfucker, it _hurts_ – but Party’s got him pinned.

“OK Frank, I’m going to let you go if you promise you’ve calmed down –”

“I have!!” Frank says desperately. 

“Are you sure!”

“Yes!!” He tries to nod but that only makes his face rub even more painfully against the carpet.

The pressure on the side of his head is suddenly gone. He doesn’t even get to sit up as Party Poison’s already grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into an upright sitting position against the back of the sofa. His hands are bound together in front of him, tied together with a blue bandana that’s covered with white stars.

“OK, you calmer now?” Party asks. His hair is messed up and his mask is crooked. Frank’s so confused and disorientated.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks.

“You’re crashing. Hard.” 

“Crashing from what?!” Frank asks. His heart is pounding, his breath is hitching and he suddenly can’t breathe as a huge wave of inexplicable panic floods through him.

“The pills.”

Frank gasps, spasms taking over his entire body. He’s choking and spots dance in front of his eyes. He feels sick. 

“I – I – I can’t – breathe!!” 

“It’ll pass,” Party says in oddly calm tone. He’s crouching down in front of Frank, one hand firmly pressed against Frank’s shoulder, pinning him up. 

“What- what did you do to me?!” 

“Deep breaths, you’ll get through this,” Party says. “Going cold turkey sucks but it’s the only way.”

“But – I only took one!!” 

“Come on Frankie, you’ve been through this before – that kind of stuff doesn’t matter. One dose is all it takes to get the addiction going again.”

“I don’t remember it!!” Frank wails. “Why don’t I remember –” 

Oh right. Parallel universe. He forgot. 

“I didn’t do this,” Frank says desperately. “I haven’t done this before, I can’t – I’m scared!!”

Party Poison nods. “You can’t remember it,” he says softly. “The addiction –”

“ _I’m not addicted_ –”

Party suddenly presses his hand against Frank’s mouth, silencing him.

“You’re getting too loud,” he says quietly. “You’ll draw attention to yourself.”

Frank tries to scream but it’s muffled by Party’s hand. He can’t _breathe_ –

“Stop screaming and shouting and I’ll take my hand away, OK?” Party says in that same quiet voice. “But you’ve really got to stop screaming. I don’t want to have to gag you. Can you do that?”

Frank nods desperately. Party’s hand is suddenly gone and he can breathe again. He takes deep, shaking gulps of air.

“Easy Frankie, you’re not through the worst of it yet,” Party says gently.

Frank’s about to ask him what the hell he means by that when every nerve ending in his body goes haywire. He cries out, hunching and arching his back, his legs thrashing out. Party grabs him, his arms wrapping around his body, and oh fuck, Frank wishes to God he _hadn’t_ because he suddenly wants more, he wants to push himself against Party, to feel his lips against his own again, to bite down on his lip, to have Party run his hands all over his tattoos like Gerard did – and _Gerard_ \- Frank wishes he was here because at least then he wouldn’t be so completely and utterly alone, like he’s felt since he first got here. He lets out a strangled noise and realises he’s crying, sobbing hysterically, completely uncontrollably...

Party Poison keeps his arms around Frank, patting his back awkwardly and murmuring soothing words. The physical contact helps calm Frank.

“Look, this’ll pass,” Party Poison’s saying. “It’s... how they work. The pills. They... they kinda mute everything you’re feeling, which is fine if you keep taking them but when you stop, it all comes rushing back.”

“God, I’m such a fucking mess,” Frank eventually manages to choke out. 

Party Poison holds him at arms length, studying him.

“Yup, you are,” he says after a moments inspection.

A giggle escapes Frank’s throat. It’s more like a choked cough than an actual sound of laughter but it’s unmistakably mirth. He takes a few deep calming breaths and wipes his eyes on the edge of his sleeve. 

“Come on, that’s it,” Party says encouragingly. “Deep breaths... You just gotta get hold of it.”

Frank snorts. “Get hold of it... right. Because I was doing so well beforehand.”

“Well, you’re not crying anymore!” 

Mortification suddenly fills Frank’s entire body as he realises Party Poison still has his arms around him, because _what the actual fuck is he doing??_ He’s just completely fallen to pieces in front of Party-fucking-Poison -

“I swear to God, if you tell Ray about this...” Frank says, trying to sound as threatening as he can.

Party looks amused and mimes locking the side of his mouth. “It dies with me, Iero,” he says. “No seriously though, no one – and I mean _no one_ – would mock you for this. We’ve all been there, we all know what it’s like, and the fact that you’ve had to go through this twice -”

“Twice?” Frank asks thickly.

Party gives Frank a very pitying look.

“The first time, Frankie,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You wouldn’t have got to where you are today without being dosed at some point. Fuck, they must have really had you on a strong cocktail...” 

Frank wants to slam his body against Party’s, pin him to the ground and rub up against him whilst simultaneously tearing off his own face, curling up in a corner and screaming until his lungs give out. 

“Really?” he asks darkly, feeling a tremor run across his skin. 

“You’ll be fine.”

They lapse back into silence again. Party Poison finally lets go of Frank and shifts his weight so that he’s still sitting on Frank’s ankles. As he moves, the beads around his wrist jangle, catching Frank’s attention.

“What’s with the jewellery?” Frank asks, trying to distract himself.

“Huh? Oh, these?” Party Poison holds up his wrist in front of Frank’s face so Frank can see the beads. “Bad luck beads. They stop bad luck from finding you because you always know where it is.” 

“Huh,” Frank says, and that’s all his energy gone again. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the surface behind him. He’s so tired, so fucking exhausted but his body is still too alert to relax. 

“I can’t do this again... What do I do if Korse decides to spring another surprise attack on me again?” he asks, opening his eyes. 

Party grins and in that instant, he’s changed from friendly and vaguely goofy to animalistic and incredibly dangerous. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him off your back... I’ve got a few things planned,” he says, like he’s enjoying the idea. He flashes his teeth as he smiles and Frank suddenly notices that he’s got really weird, tiny straight teeth, kinda a bit like –

“Now, to business,” Party says suddenly. Frank blinks and forgets what he was thinking. 

“Huh?”

“Business,” Party says with that same untrustworthy smile. “The nature of you working for the Fabulous Killjoys.”

Frank groans and leans back. “That’s why you came over?”

“Well, I wanted to see if you’d accepted our offer or not.”

“What offer? Last time I checked, it was ‘work for us or else we rat you out to Korse’! Did I miss the fine print or something?”

“No no, you pretty much got it. I just wanted to make sure you were OK with it...”

Frank stares at Party incredulously. 

“... and I also wanted to make sure you hadn’t hidden a bunch of listening devices or something around here,” he adds, looking around the ruined apartment.

“I might have done,” Frank admits. “I – I can’t remember. I – I’ve got blanks. In my memories.”

Party nods. “Yup. Standard side effect. 

There’s an oddly bitter tone to his voice as he says that and Frank’s not too sure how to respond. His cheeks are still wet; without thinking, he leans forwards and wipes his remaining tears off on Party’s bandana that is still holding his wrists together.

“Lovely,” Party says dryly. “I have to keep that around my face and now it’s covered in your snot.”

“You shouldn’t have used it to tie me up then.”

“You attacked me – I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. And I could have asked where you kept the handcuffs but I’m not sure if we’re quite ready for that yet...”

Frank’s about to say something when Party Poison leans in and kisses him again. It’s a softer, much gentler kiss than before and Frank’s about to pull away when he remembers what Party initially told him about the pills and how they made people taste differently. 

He closes his eyes and tries not to kiss back with too much enthusiasm. He tries not to think about how his hands are tied or how Party Poison is practically sitting on top of him, kneeling in fact with one leg on either side of Frank’s own, and he most definitely does not think about reaching up with his bound hands and tangling them in the front of Party’s t-shirt, pulling him in closer. Party’s not helping matters though; for someone who’s only supposed to be ‘testing,’ he’s certainly putting a lot of effort in. His fingers lightly trace over Frank’s jaw, lacing through Frank’s hair and his lips move softly in time with Frank’s own, his tongue tracing the shape of Frank’s lips and tasting the inside of his mouth... 

When Party pulls away, Frank blinks stupidly a few times.

“What do you do when you’re trying to test your own mother?!” Frank mutters.

Party licks his lips thoughtfully. “Still some remaining... most of it’s out your system though, which is a good thing.” 

“Oh goodie. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“What?!” Party sounds confused. 

“I – never mind.”

Frank wants to say something about how he doesn’t like how he feels completely used every time Party kisses him, especially when he could probably get the same results from licking a glass Frank had just used. He wants to tell him about Gerard, about how things are just starting with them and how he doesn’t want to fuck things up already by kissing someone else (even if it’s someone in a parallel universe). He wants to tell Party he’s not sure what he thinks about him anymore; far from being the deadly, wanted criminal Frank’s supposed to be chasing, so far Frank’s found him to be an oddly fascinating and complex person who’s had plenty of opportunities to kill or injure Frank but hasn’t taken any of them. 

He wants to tell him that this thought alone terrifies him more than anything else. 

“What?” Party Poison presses.

“It’s nothing. Untie me already.” 

“You sure?” Party look sceptical. “You go for me again and I’ll shoot you.”

Frank thinks this is an idle threat but he decides against saying this as Party leans forward and unties his wrists, shoving the soggy bandana into one of his pockets. Frank rubs his wrists but doesn’t try to get up; he still feels incredibly fragile, like his skin is made of paper and his bones are trembling underneath. If he moves too much, he’ll fall to pieces completely.

Party stands up and looks around. “Where do you keep the first aid kit?” 

“Kitchen,” Frank says, because it’s the same place he keeps it at home. “Top shelf of the cupboard.”

Party disappears into the kitchen and when he returns, he’s carrying a white box in his hands with the BLI logo stamped on the side. He crouches down in front of Frank and opens the box. 

“OK... disinfectant wipes and bandages,” he says, pulling out two cellophane-wrapped white packages and ripping them open. Without another word, he gently takes Frank’s arm and wipes it down. Frank hisses; where he’s clawed at his own skin, it stings like a motherfucker. 

“Don’t think you’ll need any painkillers,” Party continues as he starts to bandage it up, “Although with what’s happened, I can imagine you probably wouldn’t want to take anymore pills!”

Satisfied that the bandage is securely tied, Party looks back in the box and shifting through it. Frank’s about to ask what he’s looking for but then Party starts pulling out more white cellophane packages and stuffing them in his pockets.

“Are you robbing me?!” Frank asks, disbelief coursing through him.

“Yup!” 

“Wh – but – why!?”

“I’m running low on a few supplies... and with a face as gorgeous as mine, I can’t exactly go into a BLI pharmacy and top up. There’d be riots.”

“And probably several teenage pregnancies,” Frank nods. “Children crying, old ladies shrieking...”

“Exactly. Total and utter chaos.” Party nods, completely deadpan, then grins. “My kind of party.”

“Please don’t tell me that’s where you got the name from,” Frank groans. 

Party Poison laughs and stands up. 

“Well, I think that’s your medical supplies sufficiently depleted. Time for me to make my escape before someone sends in some Dracs to investigate the noise.”

There’s no pretence of staying for any other reason. Party Poison got what he came for and now he’s going. It’s a shame that he’s technically the enemy because he’s actually the third person that Frank’s had the most contact with in this world, after Ray and Korse. 

Frank can’t be bothered to get up off the floor to see him off. The idea of moving too much still feels like a tremendous effort. Party’s walking back to the window when his foot gets caught on the bottom drawer that’s partly sticking out and he stumbles, and as he does, the drawer flies open with the momentum.

“Smooth,” Frank snorts.

Party flips him off in response, but then he looks down and frowns.

“What’s that?” he asks, nudging the drawer with his foot.

“My underwear, probably,” Frank says dryly. 

“You keep your underwear in a combination safe?” 

“What?”

Reluctantly, Frank crawls over. Sure enough, there’s a safe in there that takes up the entire bottom drawer. There’s a numerical keypad on the left and a small 4-digit screen. 

“Open it,” Party says. His entire tone has changed from the playful teasing moments ago to cold and serious. 

“Fuck off.”

“Open it or I shoot you,” Party says and he pulls out his gun this time, pointing it at Frank’s head. 

Frank’s never been held at gunpoint before, not at the end of a threat. Sure, the Dracs had pointed their guns at him but that was an execution. This is a threat, and it’s all the more terrifying. Frank’s mind goes blank with shock as he looks down the barrel of Party’s gun and all he can suddenly focus on is the design on it, of how the black stripes contrast against the yellow body vividly with a stripe of red running horizontally along the body underneath the vertical black. There’s kanji along the red stripe and Frank’s not sure if it’s Japanese or Chinese, let alone what it means and the end of the barrel is blackened and charred where it’s been burnt from use...

“Iero!!” 

“What’s the writing mean?” Frank asks, then winces because that is _seriously_ not the right question to be asking right now. 

“‘Give me your money,’” Party translates. “And stop stalling! Open the safe!”

Frank looks over to the safe and then back to Party. He tries to look past the gun and at Party’s face but he can’t do it.

“I don’t know how. I don’t know the combination,” he says. 

“What do you mean, you don’t know the combination!? It’s your safe!”

“I didn’t even know I had it,” Frank says and from the incredulous noise that Party makes, Frank realises he’s said the wrong thing again. Shit, it might have been better to lie and say it was something like BLI standard issue and he’d never used it. 

Party still hasn’t lowered his gun and Frank can feel a wave of hysteria about to come crashing over him again. He takes deep breaths through his nose, trying not to completely lose it. 

“OK, OK, I’ll try it,” he says. “I’m not sure what the combination is.” 

“That’ll be the pills. _Try_ to remember the combination, Frankie.”

“I – I don’t know! I’m not even sure what it could be!”

Perhaps it’s because of how badly his voice is shaking but Party finally lowers his gun. Frank turns back to the safe. It’s his safe, for crying out loud. He should be able to get in. What would he chose as the combination? 

He types in 3110. It doesn’t work. Neither does 3181. 

“What’s the numbers?” Party asks as Frank types in 1081. It doesn’t work. 

“My birthday,” Frank replies simply as he tries 1981 to no success. 

Fuck. 

“You were born in 1981?” Party asks, sounding interested. 

1031 doesn’t work either. 

“Yeah, why?” 

8110\. Still nothing.

“No reason. I thought... I dunno. You’re 38. I thought you were younger.”

Maybe the combination’s backwards? Or maybe it’s not even his birthday? Maybe it’s his mother’s birthday or something? Or maybe it’s something incredibly simple, like 0000 as a double bluff? No... even he wouldn’t be that stupid... would he? 

He types in 0000 and is not at all surprised when it doesn’t work.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, looking up at Party. “I wasn’t listening.”

Party shrugs. “Don’t worry.” 

“Why’s it matter what’s in here?” Frank asks, gesturing to the safe. “I’m not even sure myself.”

“The fact that you’ve even got it means you’ve got something to hide,” Party says.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“True,” Party says thoughtfully. “Still...”

“Look, if I figure it out, I’ll let you know, OK?” Frank has no idea what’s in the safe but he’s beyond caring at this point. More than anything, he wants to crawl into bed and be done with this day here. He’s been dosed up unwillingly and suffered the worst come-down he’s ever had in his life (including that weekend in collage where he took so many pills one Friday night and woke up the following Monday with absolutely no recollection of what he’d done all weekend) and technically, this is the second day in a row he’s found himself staring at the wrong end of a gun. 

Yeah... to say that he’s had enough would be putting it mildly. 

“Try to remember that combination,” Party says with a dangerous smile. “I want to see what Scarecrow has to hide.”

~*~*~

Opening his eyes, Frank lies there for a few minutes on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. The sound of his breathing sounds amplified in his own head but is oddly soothing to hear and for a while, he lets himself be lulled by it.

In... and out... in... and out... 

He stares at the sign he pinned up on the ceiling before he went to sleep here last time. It was something Gerard had suggested; all it says is home on it in bright red letters but it’s comforting to see. On a separate piece of paper next to it, it says in massive letters _SUNDAY_. 

Sunday. Right. No work. His immediate thought it to call Gerard and see if he wants to hang out but then he realises that despite how time’s running for him, he technically only saw Gee yesterday. He doesn’t want to come across as too clingy or needy.

Instead, he gets up, makes a fresh pot of coffee and gets in the shower. He tidies and cleans his apartment thoroughly, from dusting the shelves, washing the kitchen floor, fluffing the pillows and emptying and washing the ashtrays (which is pretty self-defeating because he’s chain smoking the whole time he’s tidying). He goes through his clothes and makes a pile of clothes to throw out because they don’t really fit anymore or he never wears them. At about midday, he realises he’s running low on certain food substances, so he pulls on his jacket and heads out to the shops. When he gets back, he decides that what he _really_ needs to do is to sort the contents of his cupboards alphabetically. Frank’s got the doors open and he’s reaching for the nearest tin of tomato soup when the phone rings.

“Hello?” he answers, trying not to sound too grateful to whoever’s calling. As long as it’s not bad news, he’ll take any callers at the moment. Heck, he’ll even humour telemarketers for a bit if he has to.

“Hey Frankie! What you up to?”

Frank nearly drops the phone in horror. 

“Party Poison?!” 

“What?! Hello? Hello?? Frank, you there? It’s me, Gerard!”

“... Gerard?”

“Yeah.... remember me? Arty guy from Starbucks, you came over to mine and I threw paint cans over you and then we had some excellent kissing and geeky conversations?”

Frank laughs, relief rushing through him. “Yes, of course I remember you. You just sounded like... someone else.”

“Party Poison? Isn’t that one of the characters from your novel?”

“Yeah, but he’s based on someone I used to know...”

“Riiiiggghhtt. Anyway, I was wondering, what are you doing?”

“Finding a cure for cancer.”

“Really? How’s that going?” 

Perhaps Frank’s imagining it but he thinks he can hear Gerard smiling. 

“Yeah, it’s going really well,” Frank says, cradling the phone between his shoulder and face. “I’ve mostly been making it out of fried eggs and common household cleaner.”

“Amazing. You should try adding in some aftershave, I find that’s generally always the missing compound.”

Frank grins. Gerard’s such a dork. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. “So, what about you? Doing anything interesting?”

“Saving the world, mostly. It gets a bit dull after a while though.”

“I can imagine.” 

Frank succeeds in finding a cigarette and lighting it up, taking a drag. 

“Yeah, anyway,” Gerard continues, “So when you’re not finding a cure for cancer and all, what you doing today? Coz I was thinking, I know I saw you yesterday and I didn’t want to come across as really clingy or full-on but I’m bored and I like seeing you and –”

“I’d love to,” Frank cuts across Gerard’s babbling. “Whatever it is you’re planning, I’m in.”

“Great! I’ll call the strippers!” 

Frank laughs. 

“No seriously though, I was just thinking movies at mine? Mikey’s just got the ultimate collection of 1950’s horror movies delivered in the week.”

“Are there werewolves?” Frank asks.

“Yup.”

“And really awful special effects?”

“Of the best kind,” Gerard promises.

“Perfect! When can I come over?”

“How long does curing cancer take? Come over when you’re done?”

“I’ll see you then,” Frank says.

“Great! It’s a date,” Gerard says and then hangs up.

Date. Definitely a date. Frank’s heart does an excited leap in his chest. 

Frank’s been on some real shockers of dates before. Quite possibly, the worst one in recent years was that guy in Accounts at work who had seemed perfectly normal after a few weeks of playful flirting when he’d suggested they went for drinks. Everything was going fine until he started talking about how he’d held a knife to his dad’s back after a fight and that one time he tried to burn down a church. There was also the really hot punky guy who Frank had met at a gig; they’d actually been going out for a few months before Frank discovered he also had three kids with his fiancé. And then there was the time Frank’s mum had tried to set him with that doctor who was the son of someone she went to church with; the doctor had insisted on ordering meat lasagne for Frank despite Frank repeatedly saying “but I’m a vegetarian” and then tried to get Frank to foot the bill... 

The date with Gerard turns out to be one of the best one he’s been on in a while. They watch some of Mikey’s old movies together and later on, when they’re sitting on the sofa, Gerard’s drawing in his sketchbook while Frank snuggles in next to him and finally gets to read some more of his trashy Sci-Fi book. 

“Haven’t you finished that yet?” Gerard asks, not looking up from his sketchbook.

“Nope. Been a bit busy,” Frank says, leaning against Gerard’s side. 

“What’s happened so far?” 

“Aliens landed. There’s something going on with the main character, you can just tell he’s about to find out something big, like it’ll turn out he’s been unconsciously working for the aliens all along.”

Gerard snorts. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s been hinted at throughout, like he’s getting all these blackouts and memory lapses.” Frank flips through to the right page and settles into his book. 

_“I had to speak to the professor. The professor would know what to do._

_‘Ahh, I see,’ said the professor when I’d finished. ‘Quite the conundrum you’re in there.’_

_‘I know,’ I said, feeling a well of despair rising up inside of me. ‘I’m so lost. I don’t understand anymore . I’m supposed to be the hero and save the world but I just don’t know how!’_

_‘Well, my dear boy, I suppose it all boils down to what you already know and knowing what you don’t know,’ the professor explained._

_‘I... I don’t understand,’ I said, frustrated._

_‘Well, you know what you know, do you not? What do you already know?’_

_‘About?’_

_‘About the aliens, dear boy! Keep up!!’ He chuckled and looked over the top of his spectacles at me. Behind the glass, his piercing blue eyes twinkled.”_

Frank’s interest in the book suddenly starts to slip, which probably has something to do with how Gerard’s lips are lightly caressing the back of his neck. Frank ignores him and continues reading.

_“I thought about it._

_‘I know that they can’t swim. And they’re made of some kind of metal...’_

_‘Excellent. Now, you need to think about what you don’t know. For example, is the metal simply an exoskeleton that protects the inside like a suit of armour or is that the actual skin of the beast, in which case, we need to question how they are born or made.’”_

One of Gerard’s arms snakes its way around Frank’s side, pulling him up closer against Gerard’s side. 

“What are you doing?” Frank asks, a grin on his face. 

“Nuthin’,” Gerard replies, lightly nibbling on Frank’s earlobe. Frank grins and twists his head to the side slightly, but Gerard’s got other plans.

“Nope, bad Frankie,” he says in a low voice that sends shivers all the way up and down Frank’s spine. “You should be reading.”

Frank stares back at the book. He gets about as far as recognising there are blocks of text on the page before his attention gets zoned in on how the hand that’s wrapped around his waist is lightly tracing circles over his stomach. Through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, every sense feels magnified. Gerard’s nuzzling, his lips now exploring the back of Frank’s other ear.

“Read to me, Frankie,” Gerard says and there’s a small part of Frank’s brain that’s impressed how Gee can sound so innocent and completely seductive at the same time. 

“You don’t even know how the story goes!” Frank protests, trying to turn around so he can kiss Gerard.

“I’m curious,” Gerard says, his voice muffled slightly by Frank’s hair. “And I’m sure I can keep up. Read to me.”

Frank wants to close his eyes and arch his back, press himself against Gerard and –

“‘How are they made?’” he reads out in a steady voice. He can feel Gerard’s hot breath against the skin on his neck. “‘Do you mean born by some natural force or created by another being?’”

Gerard’s tongue traces over Frank’s scorpion tattoo. Frank’s breath catches in his throat.

“Go on,” Gerard murmurs. “Keep reading.”

His teeth scrape over Frank’s neck. Frank gulps. He is so unbelievably turned on right now, he’s not even sure how he’s supposed to continue.

“‘Yes, precisely. And – and – with the alien beings, they – they –”

Gerard’s fingertips slowly - deliberately – creep lower down Frank’s stomach. 

“Go on, Frankie. What do the aliens do?”

God rot him, Frank can fucking _feel_ Gerard’s lips twisting in a smile. 

“‘Theymustbegettingtheirpowerfromsomewhere,’” Frank reads out in one long gush. Gerard’s hand is playing with the edge of Frank’s t-shirt, his fingers brushing against the skin underneath and Frank suddenly wonders where the hell Gerard’s other hand is. “’And thus, we might have the reason they’re here...’”

Frank doesn’t even realise he’s been angling his face further and further back towards Gerard until Gerard’s other hand suddenly comes around the side of Frank’s head, fingers gently but firmly pushing Frank’s face back towards the book, holding him in place. 

“Behave, Frankie,” Gee purrs. 

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

“I’m sure that’s not part of the book.”

“Yeah, yeah it is, it’s right in this part, right here,” says Frank, snapping the book shut and twisting his entire body around to face Gerard – and then abruptly, one of Gerard’s hands is on Frank’s shoulder, pushing him back and there’s movement and it’s so fucking fast that Frank realises somehow, Gerard’s actually managed to manoeuvre him so they’re both lying horizontal on the sofa with Gerard on top, pinning Frank in place between his legs. 

Gerard’s grinning like the Cheshire-fucking-Cat, sitting back and looking at Frank with the most intense expression on his face. 

“Now now Frankie, behave,” Gerard says again. “Good things come to those who wait, you know?”

Frank tries to sit up but Gerard plants a hand in the centre of his chest, pushing him down firmly and holding him down. Gerard leans forward, his long black hair falling down and tickling the side of Frank’s face. He’s too close for Frank to see his entire face anymore, so Frank focuses on his eyes; they’re surrounded by shadow but they’re hazel and ... 

Familiar? 

Gerard pulls back slightly.

“What?” he asks, suddenly looking worried.

“What?” Frank asks.

“You – you just gave me a bit of a funny look,” Gerard says, panic suddenly all over his face. “Oh God, I’m sorry, it was too much too fast wasn’t it?! I just - I swear, I thought –”

Frank seizes the opportunity to sit up and kiss Gerard before Gerard can completely kill the mood. Gerard makes a small squeak of surprise but Frank’s already reaching up and grabbing the front of Gerard’s t-shirt in his fist, holding him in. 

Gerard suddenly pulls back again. Frank tries to keep kissing him but Gerard holds him back. 

“Sorry, I’ve just gotta check now,” he says quickly. “You are OK with all this, aren’t you?”

Frank nods. “Oh, I am _totally_ down with this,” he says. Unintentionally, it comes out as a bit of a growl. He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate.

Gerard smiles with relief. “Good,” he says. “Sorry, not to like, completely ruin the mood, but yeah, sometimes it ends up when you think someone’s find with how things are going and then it turns out they really _really_ weren’t and –“

“Can we go back to kissing please?” Frank cuts across. He tries to kiss Gerard again, partly to shut him up, but Gerard dodges back again with that devastating hollow-point smile.

“What did I say about behaving yourself?” he says. 

Frank backs down slightly, trying to look meek. 

“I’ve been really good,” he says. “I swear, I’ll behave.”

“Good,” Gerard whispers, leaning in and _finally_ kissing Frank. Frank groans as Gerard’s lips massage against his own with just a hint of aggression. Gerard’s supporting all of his own weight on his knees and one arm with the other holding Frank down, but with how they sink into the sofa, their bodies are still pressed together and Frank can’t resist pressing up against Gerard, feeling the warmth from his blood radiating through the layers of their clothes. They kiss like that for a while with Gerard completely taking the lead and Frank following. With the hand that isn’t supporting his weight, Gerard traces his fingers down Frank’s side, coming to rest on Frank’s hipbone as he bites down gently on his lip and then –

And then the front door slams and they both jump so badly that Gerard actually falls off the sofa and lands on the ground with a loud crash.

“Gerard?” Mikey’s voice calls out. 

Gerard looks over to Frank with an embarrassed grin and mouths ‘sorry’ before calling out “living room!”

Frank quickly tries to rearrange himself and his clothes to a more appropriate manner, curling his legs up on the sofa to hide all evidence and grabbing his book from where it was lying discarded on the floor as Gerard quickly sits down back next to him; he’s pulled out his sketchbook from wherever it was and is completely engrossed in a sketch. It would have been completely passable if it wasn’t for the fact that his lips are swollen, his usually pale face is flushed, his hair is tangled and sticking up and his sketchbook is being held in a rather specific way over his crotch... 

Frank abruptly realises he probably doesn’t look much better either just as Mikey sticks his head around the door.

“Hi Mikey!” Gerard says brightly. “How was rehearsal?”

“Good,” Mikey says, nodding to Frank. “Hey Frank.”

“Hi Mikey,” Frank says as he sees Mikey take in the scene before him and raises one eyebrow. 

Frank tries not to laugh. It must be far too obvious what was going on. 

“Anyway, I’m going to go,” Mikey says. 

“Are you sure? We were just watching TV,” Frank says, not wanting to kick Mikey out of his own living room.

Mikey looks over to the TV (which is switched off) and then back to them.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says, completely expressionless. 

“You going to your room?” Gerard asks. “Don’t forget to –”

“I’ve got some people coming round in a bit,” Mikey says. The corner of his mouth his curling up slightly in a smile. “As a heads up. Didn’t mean to interrupt your... TV watching.” 

Frank can’t hold back a giggle as Gerard shoots him a look, clearly also trying not to laugh. 

“Oh, by the way, Frank,” Mikey adds, “You’re still coming on Thursday, right?”

“Thursday – oh! That’s your gig, right?”

Mikey and Gerard both nod. 

“Good good,” Mikey says. “I put your name on guestlist but I didn’t know your surname so you’re on there as ‘Frank Shirtless-Wet-Guy.’” 

He ducks out the room and they hear the sound of a door slam a few seconds later. 

“You’d better come with me to the gig,” Frank says, turning to Gerard. “I do not want to see what happens if I try to introduce myself to the bouncer as that by myself.”


	5. Chapter 5

Frank’s not sure if Party Poison’s would keep his word about staying silent over the whole ‘emotionally breaking down into a massive hysterical mess’ thing. Then again, of all the secrets he’s keeping for Frank, the massive come-down from the pills isn’t really one of the _major_ ones but it’s the one that’s the most humiliating for Frank. 

“He’s keeping a lot of secrets for me,” Frank suddenly says out loud, surprised. He’s sitting on the sofa in his flat in the BLI world, idly reading through some of the PP Files. As requested, he’s trying to find out some information about Fun Ghoul. 

“I am not doing anything wrong,” he said before he started. “I am merely collecting information that I have access to which I intend to share with a colleague at work, who also has access. I just happen to have a bit more access. I’m doing a good deed because the more information we have about this person, the closer we can come to stopping him. And he’s dead anyway. It makes no difference.”

No matter how many times Frank repeats it though, he’s still not convinced. 

He found Fun Ghoul’s profile easily enough. It was the piece of paper with the most amount of white space on it. None of the information on it was even “classified” like it was for Party Poison or “suspected” like Kobra Kid’s. Fun Ghoul was an unknown entity and if it wasn’t for the fact that people had actually seen him (albeit, admittedly from a distance), Frank would be questioning if the guy even existed.

It was strange as well because the amount of information in Fun Ghoul’s “distinguishing marks/features” section was so incredibly detailed. 

“Chin-length black hair,” Frank reads out loud. “Always wears a khaki-green Army vest . Has a red Japanese kamikaze sun on the back with a yellow ‘killjoy’ patch over the left breast pocket. Wears a black t-shirt with yellow sleeves underneath. Sleeves are rolled up with two black stripes just above the elbow. On the right arm, has a ‘Super Stinger Demolition’ patch - see Note 1. Wears black waxed jeans and black boots with two vertical red stripes around the rim.” 

He flips to Note 1. Apparently, Super Stinger Demolition was a demolition company that was eventually bought out by Better Living Industries. Frank grabs a pencil and scribbles ‘Possible employee of Stinger Demo?’ in the margin of the page. 

“That would make sense,” Frank mumbles to himself. “An ex–employee with a grudge.” 

He turns to the ‘associates’ section. 

“Possible associates,” he reads. “Briar Rabbit, Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Show Pony and Dr Death Defying... the radio DJ?! Really?!”

Dr Death Defying is another person who’s got a whole page of ‘we actually know fuck-all about this person’. He runs a pirate-radio broadcast that plays “illegal music” (infuriatingly, the files don’t say what kind of illegal music) and gives out mysterious clues to other Killjoys out in the Zones. Apparently, Dr Death Defying is more elusive than Fun Ghoul, as BLI couldn’t even come up with a description of the guy; the best they could do was say “distinctive voice – low, gravelly. American accent” and only has one certified associate, Show Pony (who is apparently identifiable by his polka-dot motorbike helmet, tights, black thong and rollerskates. Frank has to read that line a few times before he realises that yes, that’s actually what it says). 

With a roll of his eyes, Frank goes back to the main article about Fun Ghoul.

“Japanese symbols?” he scribbles down in the margin. “Possible heritage?” 

He keeps up with this method of reading between the lines, trying to glean any information out about the mysterious Fun Ghoul up till lunch. He reads the files obsessively in the back of the car on the way to work, he sneaks random pages into his pockets during his breaks to study in locked toilet cubicles away from spying cameras and when he’s continuing with his mindless computer task, he works on autopilot to let his mind wander and puzzle over every tiny piece of information. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Ray says during lunch time. He sounds genuinely concerned. “How are you feeling today?”

Frank’s slightly miffed that Ray isn’t gushing over his efforts. Unconsciously, he rubs his forearm under the table; he can feel the bandage through his shirt.

“I’m good,” Frank says. “Just... trying to keep busy.”

“Your mind might be a bit scatty for the next few days,” Ray explains. “Don’t overexert yourself, ok? I think you might have actually got a certain red-head genuinely worried.”

... well, that _really_ wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“He’s worried? Did he – has he said anything? About –”

“No, he hasn’t, and that’s how Kobr – oh, for fucks sake!” Ray breaks off, frowning. “Can never bloody tell if they’re listening or not... Hey, random idea, do you want to go for a drink after work?”

“Is that allowed?! I mean, isn’t there a curfew or something?”

Ray laughs. “Where would you get that idea from? What do you think we’re in, 1984? There’s not much to do after hours, granted but people still socialise a bit! Meet me in the main entrance after you finish. I know a good bar we can go to without... well, one that’s _less crowded._ ” 

Frank suddenly understands and nods. He spends the rest of the afternoon oddly looking forward to it. OK, so Ray’s not exactly mixing with a good crowd but Frank likes Ray. Party Poison unnerves the fuck out of him and Korse is fucking terrifying, but Ray is still the same old Ray Frank knew back in high school. 

Plus, Frank’s quite curious to see what a bar looks like here and if there’s any kind of futuristic alcoholic drinks available. He can’t imagine BLI endorsing any kind of bar and if Ray wants to go somewhere where they won’t be overheard, it’ll probably be some sleazy, underground place. The cocktails could have some wicked names... a white Russian could be called a Dead Drac... A BL/Ind Spritzer would basically be white wine and lemonade... A Kobra Kid would obviously be a Snakebite, and judging from the guy’s penchant for explosive demolition, a Fun Ghoul would be a Jagerbomb... but what about a Party Poison? Something lethal... the kind of drink that’d have you floored after one pint... 

Frank’s brought out of his daydreams by the sounds of someone punching in the key code on the other side of the door. He looks up in time to see the door open and...

Shit. Korse. 

“Iero,” Korse says with a nod, stepping in. 

Frank is very proud of how little he reacts, despite the incredibly high-pitched scream he makes internally. 

“You don’t reply to your emails,” Korse says, narrowing his eyes. 

Up until that moment, Frank wasn’t even aware that he had an email account. For once though, he manages to not say this.

“I – I’m sorry?” he says. “I’ve been very busy.”

The red around Korse’s eyes is especially noticeable today and his skin is so dry that it’s starting to flake in places around his lips. 

“Yes, well... I’m here to inform you that your bike has been repaired,” Korse says, placing some keys on the desk next to Frank. “As from tomorrow, you’ll be back on Surveillance.” 

“Surveillance?”

“Yes, of course!” Korse snaps. “We can’t have you working on cases if you’re confined to the same room all day! And speaking of, have you made any progress on the Party Poison case?”

Frank thinks about Ray, and about how close he seems to be to Kobra Kid. He thinks about how easily and frequently Party Poison gets into his flat. He thinks about the trail of destruction Fun Ghoul left behind him. He thinks about the anarchy the Killjoys want. 

He thinks about the Dracs and how they’re supposed to be the ones in charge. He thinks about the pill Korse made him take. He thinks about all the people at BLI and all the inhabitants of this city and the looks on their faces.

“I believe so,” Frank says. It surprises him how expressionless his own voice is. “I’m compiling all the information as I go along but I don’t want to share my findings until I’m one hundred percent certain.” 

Korse nods. “Excellent. Also...” He pauses and stares at Frank with those cold, black eyes. “After the initial failure, there have been several modifications made to Classified Number Two-Zero-One-One. It’s expected to be ready for testing again in the very near future; would you be willing?”

He could have just spoken in Japanese for all Frank understood. None the less –

“Of course,” Frank says smoothly. “Just inform me when and where I’ll be needed.”

Korse nods again. “Your bike is in bay 32 and the door code for Surveillance is 2019. I will see you tomorrow,” he says curtly and with that, he’s gone. 

Frank tries not to shudder. 

“ _He’d_ be a Bloody Mary,” he mutters.

~*~*~

The upside of Korse’s impromptu trip is that this all means Frank now has a motorbike. He’s excited to see what his bike looks like; he hopes it’s big and shiny.

“Korse said it was in Bay 32,” Frank says, leading Ray through the car park and counting off the bay numbers as they pass. Most the bays are empty and the ones that aren’t have occupants that all seem to be varying shades of either jet black or Draculoid white. 

When they reach Bay 32, Frank’s jaw drops. 

“Nice,” Ray says appreciatively.

The bike is a thing of beauty. It’s huge, white, sleek and very shiny. The only thing that ruins it is the BLI logo stamped on the sides; ugly markings ruining what would otherwise be perfection.

The only problem is that Frank’s not sure how to ride it. It’s been several years since he last rode a bike and even though he knows that you’re never supposed to forget, he’s not sure if that applies to inter-dimensional travel as well. 

“I know someone who’d go crazy over this,” Ray says with a smirk. “Not your friend. Mine, if you get my drift.”

Frank’s not really surprised that Ray Toro fell in with the Killjoys. At school, Ray was a good enough guy, but had always based his friends on people who personally treated him well, popularity or personality otherwise be damned. If everyone at BLI was the either the same doped-up blank slate as most the workers or general assholes like the Dracs, all it would have taken was Kobra Kid giving Ray a smile and offering to buy him a drink one day... 

“He likes bikes?” Frank asks. 

“Loves them. Never let him get his hands on this, he’d be halfway to Zone 5 before you realised he was gone. And as for _your_ friend, he’d love the idea of a blank canvas - you’ve seen what he did to his car!”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Really?” Ray looks genuinely surprised. “That’s a shame. He sure likes you.” 

The helmet Frank’s holding slips out from between his fingers and lands heavily on the ground. He picks it up quickly. 

“So, where are we going?” Frank asks, pulling it on as Ray does the same with his. 

“Edges of the city. Only place to go if you want a decent drink,” Ray says with a grin. “Turn left when you come out of here. I’ll give you directions from there.”

Frank climbs on the motorbike, puts his key in the ignition and turns it. The engine growls to life and Frank can’t resist revving it slightly. Ray climbs on behind him, gripping around his waist tightly. 

“You ready?” Frank asks.

“As always,” Ray replies. Frank can’t see due to the helmets but he’s pretty sure Ray’s grinning. 

Carefully, Frank pulls out the space and approaches the exit, his stomach jittery with nerves – and then, they’re on the road and it all comes rushing back to Frank. He was right, it’s really something you don’t forget. There’s the most wonderful feeling of freedom as the bike speeds through the city, with building blocks rushing past them with Ray pointing out the roads they need to take. Frank still doesn’t know the city that well but he can tell they’re going further and further out to the city edges from how the amount of people on the streets and number of cars on the roads decrease. Perhaps it’s his imagination too but the greys seem all the more duller out here too.

“Pull over here and park,” Ray shouts as they turn down a deserted road.

Frank obediently slows down the bike.

“Here?” he asks, looking around in confusion. 

“Yeah, park down that alley, keep your bike out of sight,” Ray says, pointing. 

As Ray loosens his grip around Frank’s waist when the bike is parked and the engine killed, Frank suddenly feels a pang in his chest. He wishes Gerard was here. Gerard probably would have quite liked the ride and Frank definitely would have liked having him pressed up against him and holding on tightly.

“Where are we?” Frank asks, looking around the alleyway and taking off his helmet. 

“Outer edges of Battery City,” Ray says as he pulls his own helmet off. His hair has come loose from the ponytail and he runs his fingers through it, giving his head a small shake to release the fro. “We’re about three blocks from the tunnels.”

“Tunnels?”

“The usual ones, nothing dodgy,” Ray says with a grin. Frank’s clearly missing a joke. 

Frank thinks back to the map he saw in one of the PP files. Battery City was in the centre with the Zones rippling outwards.

“Is this bar in one of the Zones?” Frank asks, trying to sound like he knows what he’s on about.

Ray laughs. “Nah, far too risky, especially just for a drink! Oh – hold on.” 

“What?”

There’s a loud ripping noise before Frank can process what Ray’s done. He looks down at his arm; the embroidered X patch is gone, leaving behind only a few stray threads.

“It’s bad enough we’re turning up in their colours,” Ray explains. “But if you waltzed in with an exterminator patch on your arm, you’d be ghosted in three seconds flat.”

Frank pulls off his gloves and unbuttons the top buttons on his shirt. 

“Does this help us blend a bit?” he asks, waggling his tattooed fingers at Ray.

A brilliant wide smile lights up Ray’s entire face. “It’ll help!”

He peers out the edge of alleyway, looking both ways before jerking his head towards the other side of the road, indicating that Frank should follow. Though the street is completely deserted, the buildings around them all have windows. Anyone could be watching as they cross the street... 

They reach the other side with no one shooting them, no Dracs suddenly popping up with ray guns blazing. Frank still can’t see any form of a bar and he’s starting to wonder if this is all about to turn out to be some elaborate trap. He looks up again at the windows, half expecting to see a flash of red hair in one of them.

Meanwhile, Ray’s pushing open the door to of one of the buildings. There’s nothing to distinguish it from the others and it certainly doesn’t look like the usual sort of place a bar would be. 

“Come on,” he says when Frank hesitates. 

Frank internally sighs. Well, how much worse could it get?

The interior of the building looks like the usual sort of hallway in an apartment block, right down to the numbers on every door. 

Yeah, he’s definitely walking into a trap. 

Ray stops outside one of the doors and knocks five times. After a few seconds, the door swings open and they walk in –

“Oh!” Frank’s mouth drops in surprise.

It’s a bar. It’s quite a crowded one too, smoke heavy in the air and a band on stage playing; the place must be soundproofed. 

“You thought I was leading you into a trap, didn’t you?” Ray laughs. 

Frank does his best not to look too embarrassed. 

Ray tells Frank to find them a table while he gets them drinks so Frank chooses an empty booth in the furthest corner of the room. As he waits for Ray, he takes the opportunity to look around properly, getting a good look at the people in here. Many of people are wearing the typical BLI grey suits but there’s a very relaxed after-work feel to them; a lot of the men have the top few buttons undone, the women with long hair have let it down and there’s something in their faces, in their animated expressions and the hint of a flush of colour under their skin– they’re so unlike the majority of people in the offices and so clearly not on the pills. 

But the BLI workers aren’t the most interesting things in room. Dotted around the bar are several people wearing the strangest attire Frank’s seen for a long time. There’s a man in the far corner with goggles and a dark green, floor-length, battered leather trench coat raising a toast with some BLI workers. There’s one woman with her black hair in bunches, clearly in her 30’s, dressed in what looks like a school-girl uniform with a red vest and lipstick to match, in deep conversation with someone in a blue motorcycle helmet, white tights with blue dots and a midriff-bearing t-shirt that proclaims the statement “NOISE.” 

It’s all such a huge contrast to everything Frank’s seen so far in this world. While Better Living Industries is sterile, clean, cool and safe, this bar is gritty, dirty, dark and colourful. Everything about this place, from the people to the rock music being played by 3 guys on stage, just screams illegal. 

“Like... the punk-apocalypse,” Frank murmurs under his breath, impressed. 

“What’s that?” Ray asks, sliding down into the booth and placing two glasses on the table filled with what looks like whiskey. 

“Those people,” Frank explains with a wave of his hand. “What’s with the get up?” 

“Killjoys,” Ray says, like that explains everything. 

Actually, it does. 

Frank looks a bit closer at the person in dotty tights; he can’t tell if it’s even a woman or man. 

“Like Party Posion and Kobra Kid?” Frank guesses.

Ray nods and holds up his drink. 

“What shall we toast to?” he asks. “To the fabulous Killjoys?” 

Frank picks up his own glass. “To ever making any success of any of this.”

“Perfect!” 

Their glasses chink and Frank takes a sip; he almost chokes. 

“What the fuck is that?!” he coughs. 

“BombBunny,” Ray grins, taking another mouthful of his drink. He’s apparently unbothered by the taste. “Best stuff you’re going to get inside the city anyway.”

Frank takes another tiny sip and tries not to shudder. 

“You get used to the taste after a few sips,” Ray says with a laugh. “Christ, when was the last time you went out anyway?” 

“On a social thing? Quite a while. Never been here before, that’s for sure.”

“Try not to stare too much,” Ray says with his lips to his glass. “People come here to mind their own business a lot of the time. If you stare at someone, they’ll think you want their attention.”

The person in the helmet suddenly looks up at Frank and waves. Ray gives a small wave back and the person turns back to talking the overgrown school girl.

“Show Pony,” Ray explains. “Decent enough guy.”

The name rings a bell. Frank tries to remember what it says about the guy in the PP Files -

“ _That’s_ Show Pony?!” He can’t keep the surprise out his voice as he suddenly realises. “The same guy who’s working with Dr Death Defying??”

“The one and only,” Ray laughs. “Not operating on all Pistons and camp as Christmas, but also one of the fastest fuckers you’ll ever chase down.” 

Show Pony and the woman both suddenly look over at Frank again. The woman’s laughing. Frank stares back down at the dark wood on the table. It’s real wood, he realises with surprise, not like the plastic tables in the canteen at work. 

“I think he likes you!” Ray sounds amused. “Party’ll be jealous.”

There’s a jolt in Frank’s stomach that isn’t entirely unpleasant. He ignores this and tries to change the subject. 

“So... what’s with the whole name thing?”

Ray laughs. “Security, obviously.”

“No, I get that – I mean, where the fuck did half these names come from?!”

“Well, generally, you pick one for yourself. Sometimes, you’re given one; Party gave me mine.”

“You’ve got a Killjoy name?” Frank can’t keep the surprise out his voice.

“Of course – I’m Jet Star.”

Frank suddenly remembers how often he’s seen that name pop up in relation to Kobra Kid. He rolls his eyes. 

“I should have guessed,” he laughs. “Man, I kinda wish I had one. I feel like I’m missing out!”

“Party would probably be more than happy to come up with one for you.”

“No thanks – he’d probably call me something awful like ‘Secret Scarecrow’.”

Ray nearly snorts his drink over the bar. “Probably. Still, we could come up with something for you now... let’s see... Oh, I know! You should be something to do with Daleks! From that old Doctor Who show! Get it? Ex-term-i-nate!”

“... I’m leaving.”

“Ahh, come on Frank, play along!” Ray grins. “Dalek Something would work. What was... hey, what was the name of your first guitar?!”

Frank stares at Ray. “I’d be called Dalek Pansy.” 

There’s a pause, then they both burst out laughing. 

They spend a bit of time talking about work; Ray explains how they’ve been working on artificial robotic limbs for Dracs that have guns built in and Frank tells Ray about his promotion up to Surveillance. (“Shit. You must be doing something right... or they really don’t trust you,” Ray says. Frank grumbles, remembering the days when a promotion was actually a good thing.) 

Frank still can’t bring himself to ask Ray exactly what’s in the Zones though; judging from the appearance of Party Poison and the few Zone Runners he’s seen so far, it appears to be a very dirty grubby place. 

“So, how are you anyway?” Ray asks. “You seem a bit more composed today.” 

Frank shrugs. “I’m alright. So... um... what did you mean earlier anyway, that Party Poison was worried about me?” He tries to say this in an entirely casual way but Ray snorts. 

“Well, I didn’t hear it from him personally. It was just what Kobra said; Party was apparently all silent and moody when he got back yesterday. Hadn’t said two words. Kobra told me to keep an eye on you, for Party’s sake.” 

Frank frowns. He’s not sure if he likes this. It’s so much easier to deal with things when the Killjoys aren’t acting more human than the supposed good guys. 

“Look, I have a theory,” he says, trying to shift the subject again. “You said that Party Poison never met Fun Ghoul in the flesh, right?”

“Right.” 

“Well, I think he might have. See, I was looking at the descriptions of him and in particular, the clothes he wore. He always wore the same outfit –”

“So do Party and Kobra,” Ray points out. “They don’t exactly have access to a washing machine. I think Kobra’s got maybe two t-shirts he alternates between.”

“Yeah but that’s the thing – the files detail that. Kobra’s got a yellow t-shirt with black marks and a green one. Party’s got two jackets; one’s blue and one’s black. The tiniest details are marked, right down to variation of bandana’s that Party ties around his leg.”

“So?” 

“Well, it’s two things.” Frank holds up one finger. “First of all, you say that Party and Kobra don’t have much access to changes of clothes, but I think it’s something more than that. Party’s trying to make a stand, right? So he _wants_ to be distinguishable. He needs to create the image, the instant thing you see that makes you go ‘Oh! It’s Party Poison!’ It’s like Superman’s logo – you see the red cape and blue tights and you instantly go ‘SUPERMAN!’ If Party kept changing his clothes too much, he’d lose that. I mean, think about it – what at the chances that he happened to just find a black jacket and a blue leather jacket with the same patches and logos on the back?”

“So... you think Party Poison’s trying to be a superhero?” Ray asks, confused.

“Kinda. You see the pill with an X underneath it and you instantly know it’s him. He’s definitely trying to create the image of one, which also explains the similarities between him and Kobra’s clothes. They’ve both got red smiley mouths on their bandanas, their masks are the same shape and style, the guns are colour coded to match their masks and they’ve both got coloured stripes around the rims of their boots - they’re a team. I looked at the descriptions of other Killjoys and none of them have that kind of uniformity, so to speak. You can tell it’s more they’ve taken what clothes they can get but with those two, there’s definitely something very intentional about it.”

Ray laughs. “Those motherfuckers... Like they’re X-Men or something.”

“Or Fantastic Four.”

“Or The Invisibles!” 

“Or –“ Frank catches himself before he gets too carried away. “Anyway, Fun Ghoul – he only had the one outfit. And we already knew that Fun Ghoul was probably someone who lived in the city due to how well he knew it and his lack of ever being seen _anywhere_ in the Zones, so –”

“Why didn’t Fun Ghoul change his clothes more often,” Ray interrupts, his eyes wide with excitement. 

“Exactly!” 

“So... do you think Party and Fun Ghoul knew each other?” Ray asks. He’s looking around to make sure no one is listening to them. 

“It’s possible,” Frank explains. “I mean, this is all a theory I’ve come up with, I could be completely wrong! But the way I see it, Fun Ghoul was trying to get someone’s attention, otherwise he would have done more to distance himself from each individual attack he made. And I have a feeling it was Party Poison’s in particular because...” Frank can’t resist pausing for dramatic effect. 

“Because??”

“Because," Frank grins and leans back. "He put red stripes around the rims of his boots.”

Ray’s mouth drops open. 

“He... he must have known,” he says in a quiet, awed voice. “To get that kind of subtle message across, he would have to have known Party Poison to know to do that!”

“Well, not necessarily,” Frank says. “I mean, I figured it out –”

“Yeah but you know Party.”

“Shhhh!” Frank hisses, looking around the bar in alarm, much to Ray’s amusement. “Anyway, I don’t know him that well – the only reason I made the connection between the costumes is because I’m a massive comic book nerd!”

“Well, so’s Party!!” Ray says, like it’s obvious. “You knew that!”

Frank blinks. Did he? 

He’s quiet for too long because Ray clearly realises something’s wrong. He leans in closer over the table and gives Frank a funny look.

“Frank... you _do_ know who Party Poison is, don’t you?” he asks in a very low voice.

“Of course not!” Frank says, surprised. “Why? Do you?!”

Ray stares at him. Frank has a feeling he’s missing something incredibly apparent. 

“You ... you haven’t figured it out yet? Seriously man, I thought you knew...” 

“Knew what?” Frank asks, confused.

“Why did you agree to help us?” Ray asks suddenly. “After everything you did... I mean, I’d assumed when you’d met him, you knew...”

“Knew _what_??” Frank asks again.

Ray shakes his head, grinning again. “No way man, you’ve got to figure this one out yourself. It’s just a mask and hair dye though!” 

Frank stares at him, curiosity building. “So... you know who he is?”

“Of course! I’m one of the select few privileged people. We go way back, like, back to Before,” Ray says, taking a mouthful of his drink. “It’s a very _big_ secret.”

“I’ll bet,” Frank says, rolling his eyes. “What’s the true identity of the man terrorising the city? If we already knew, he’d have been arrested!!” 

“Oh, BLI know who he is alright,” Ray says, suddenly very dark. “At least, the highest levels do, and I mean the _highest_ of the high levels though. Korse certainly does but... you’re a level 5 right? Korse is a 6 but I’m not sure if you have access to that.”

Frank nearly knocks his drink over. 

“BLI already know?” 

“Of course!!” Ray says, one eyebrow raised. “Frankenstein’s monster and all that.”

“Oh god, who’s that?” Frank groans. “I can’t keep up with these daft names...”

Ray laughs. “Nah, it’s the whole ‘what they did’ thing, you know?”

Frank doesn’t.

“Like...” Ray pauses, struggling to think of the right words. “Look, I can’t tell you who he is if you don’t already know. But... back in the day, when people first started to get an inkling that BLI wasn’t _quite_ the savour they’d promised to be, some people tried to fight it from within, before we knew the Zones were actually liveable in. But, as you can probably guess, a fair of them were caught pretty quickly. BLI said they’d be ‘rehabilitated.’”

“And Party Poison was one of them?” Frank guesses.

“Yup. Well, come on. You know what that word means. They used the rebels as test subjects, perfecting the pills we take today.” 

Ray pauses again and then sighs. 

“Party Poison can’t remember anything from before he was captured.”

“That’s it?”

“‘That’s it’??” Ray splutters. “Frank, think about every single memory you have; every happy childhood memory, the first guy you fell in love with, every single thing that shaped who you are today... and now imagine having that all taken away from you.” Ray takes a gulp from his glass. “Party says he’s fine with not knowing because he can’t miss what he doesn’t know he’s lost, if that makes sense? But the thing that makes him mad? It’s the fact that they even did that to him in the first place.”

So that’s what all this is about, Frank thinks. He stares down into his glass, looking at the cloudy brown liquid. He’s suspected for a while that there had to be some kind of reason behind what Party Poison was doing. 

“It’s like V for Vendetta,” Frank says without thinking. “What was done to V was monstrous and they created a monster.” 

“Man, I miss the old comics. One of the first things to be banned, of course,” Ray says with a nostalgic smile. “Too many stories about the everyman rising up and fighting the power, saving the day and all those forbidden colours and ideas too!”

“Yeah, angry art and all. I can see why they were the first to go,” Frank says sadly. Too many ideas. Too much individualism. Too much of one persons prerogative. “Who knew we’d live to see the day where fucking _Spiderman_ is dangerous!!”

A nasty thought suddenly occurs to Frank. 

“Wait, shit. If Party Poison is V... Does that make me Evey?”

Ray lets out the loudest bark of laughter Frank’s heard from anyone in this place. Several people turn and stare in alarm.

“Natalie Portman was hotter, no offence man!”

“Good. Because I like my hair this length. I cannot rock the shaved head look like she did!!” 

Still grinning, Ray takes another mouthful of his drink. 

“So... back to Party Posion... you seriously have no idea?” he asks, this time sounding genuinely curious.

“I think we’ve established that.”

“Kobra Kid owes me a drink.” Ray chuckles. “We had a bet going that you’d recognise Party as soon as you saw him.” 

“What, is he some celebrity or something?” Frank asks sarcastically. “Oooo, I’m honoured.”

If Party Poison was supposed to be someone Frank knows, there’s a very good chance he never met him to begin with. Not in this world anyway. And thinking of his friends back in his reality, Frank can’t think of anyone he knows with a penchant for anarchy and red hair dye. 

Besides, Frank’s already got far too much to figure out about this world as it is. The true identity of the mysterious guy who’s making his life just that little bit more complicated in an alternate reality isn’t quite as high priority as, say, figuring out a way to make this whole world-jumping thing stop.

Frank downs the remnants of his drink.

“’Nother one?” he asks Ray, standing up.

“It’s your round man,” Ray says. “Better make it the last one though. Last thing I need is to be working on microchips with a hangover. And you’ve still got to drive!”

Frank grins. It’s nice to know that despite the world ending, there are some things that will always exist. 

When he gets back from the bar with fresh glasses of BombBunny, Frank hands Ray his drink.

“OK Ray, I have some homework for you,” he says, sitting down. 

“O...kay?” Ray says slowly.

“I need you to get Party Poison and Kobra Kid to compile a list of possible people they might know in the city,” Frank explains. “And I mean _anyone_. Living relatives, exes, friends, friends of friends... If there’s someone they went to school with who Party spoke to about comic books once, I want them on that list.”

Ray nods. “It’d have to be someone who they knew from Before.”

“Yeah, from before he became Party Poison. They might not necessarily be someone who he still speaks to now but then again, that could be why they were trying to get in touch with him in that way.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. And once you’ve got the list, what you going to do?”

“Well, I –“ Frank pauses as the reality of the situation hits him. “I... I guess I’d have to search for if any of those people haven’t been seen for the past two weeks.”

 _Because I killed him,_ he thinks. _Whoever Fun Ghoul was, he was trying to get Party Poison’s attention. He wasn’t just a nobody. He was someone who had a life, who was trying to get in touch with someone they used to know, maybe to even try and help out... and I killed him._

This world was so much easier to deal with when everything was in black and white. Frank’s meant to be one of the good guys but he’s not sure if that’ll ever justify murder. 

They finish their drinks with the usual chatter. Maybe it’s the cheep booze or something but Frank can already feel the BombBunny starting to go to his head. Fuck, he hopes he’s still OK to drive his bike... 

“So, Ray,” Frank says when he’s only got a few more mouthfuls left in his glass. He feels a bit bolder to ask a few more daring questions. “Answer me this; you hate this city. You hate this job and everything here... so why aren’t you out in the Zones with Party Poison and Kobra Kid? I mean, you go on about Kobra all the time. I kinda get the impression you’d rather be out there with him than in here with me.”

Ray opens him mouth, like he’s going to say something but words fail him. Instead, he stares down into his glass. For a second, Frank thinks he’s gone too far. Ray’s become uncharacteristically silent and isn’t saying anything. 

“I – It’s easier to stay here,” Ray mumbles eventually. “You should know that better than anyone. And getting in and out the city isn’t exactly easy - You’ve seen how heavily the tunnels are guarded!” 

Frank hasn’t but he’s going to take Ray’s word for it. 

“Party Poison seems to get in and out easily enough,” Frank points out.

“He has a car.”

“So why not just go with him? Why not ask if you can hitch a ride out the next time they’re in town?”

“They need a man inside and I’m the least suspicious -”

“Yeah but that’s not going to last forever. I’ve seen the files Ray, they’re already watching you. Heck, _I’m_ supposed to be spying on you.”

Ray looks up, alarmed and Frank realises shit, he’s said the wrong thing. Ray probably didn’t even know that.

“I’m not, obviously!!” Frank adds hastily. “I’m not giving them any information; Korse thinks I’m still integrating myself and gaining your trust. But they’ll probably figure it all out soon enough and then what?”

“You’ve... you’ve been lying for me?”

“Technically, no. I’ve just said I’m still working on it. But... you know I can’t hold them off forever. And then what? Why are you even bothering to stay in the city for so long? If I was you, I’d be long gone by now.”

“And what about you?” Ray suddenly asks. “If they figure out you’re lying, you’re going to end up going the same way as those Dracs who tried to jump you a week ago, and that’s if you’re lucky.”

Frank frowns. “What happened to them? Korse just said they’d been reassigned –”

“Reassigned. Nice.” Ray laughs humourlessly. “Like I said, that’s just if you’re lucky. They might just ghost you instead. Less paperwork.”

Frank shrugs. “Whatever. Look, don’t deflect! Why are you still here? Surely whatever deadly, dangerous task they’ve got you working on, they could get someone else on?”

Ray finally meets Frank’s eyes and Frank feels a jolt in his stomach as he realises they do. 

Oh. 

“Is an apology in order?” Ray asks with a sad smile. “We are kinda screwing you over here.”

“I already knew that,” Frank laughs. If anything, he’s offended at how little faith they had in him that he hadn’t figured that much out from how the deal was set up to begin with. He sighs. “OK, look – once you’ve got what you need, set me up with a radio or something and then you get yourself out.”

“It’s not that simple –”

“Really? What’s holding you back here? The job? Family? Friends? Me? Like I said, it sounds like everything you want is already out there in the Zones, so at the next chance, get in that car, hold on tight and don’t look back!”

There’s a weird prickling on the back of his neck and Frank suddenly has the feeling that they’re being listened to. He turns around, expecting to see someone standing behind him but the bar is still as crowded and Show Pony is now talking to a larger group of people. 

“Hey,” Ray says in a low voice, leaning in closer over the table. “Kobra’ll kill me for telling you this but... he wants to leave you behind here when the fallout kicks in. Party, on the other hand, wants you out in the Zones. If you can keep Scarecrow off our backs and get us as much inside information then...” He trails off. 

“Kobra Kid hates me,” Frank says bitterly. “What did I ever do to him?!”

Ray suddenly looks very uncomfortable. “You know what you did, Frank,” he says quietly. “But if you do this, you might be able to redeem yourself a bit. I’ll put in a good word for you with Kobra and Party might even be able to convince him a bit too. No promises, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

Kobra Kid must be really pissed about Frank killing Fun Ghoul, that much is pretty obvious. What Frank doesn’t get is why Party Poison seems to like him so much. 

“We don’t leave friends behind,” Ray explains, as if he can read Frank’s thoughts. “Not unless we have to.”

He’s speaking in the plural. Frank tries to hide his smile. Ray’s doesn’t realise he’s already Jet Star. He’ll be fine; he’s just got to get out.

~*~*~

“Iero, a word.”

Frank looks up from his computer screen; his boss is staring at him expectantly from his office doorway. It feels like everyone else has stopped working, like the entire office eagerly holding its breath to see if there’s any new gossip to be happening. 

Perhaps it’s from his double-life in an alternate universe but sometimes, Frank really dislikes this place just a little bit more than normal.

He locks his computer, gets up and follows his boss, shutting the door behind him, and tries not to look too bored. His boss is already sitting down at his desk, smiling at Frank in a reassuring way. 

If Korse smiled at him like, Frank would probably shit himself. Here, Frank can only manage to feel a vague sense of annoyance at being disturbed from his own deeply important idle thoughts. 

“Please, sit,” says his boss, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. Frank does so. 

“Well, as you might be aware, your annual review is coming up,” his boss says, cutting straight to the chase and starting to write something on a form on his desk. Mentally, Frank groans. “So, I’ve got a few questions to ask you, just to get things going a bit. Full name?”

“Frank Iero,” Frank says. He hates this formality, it’s so fucking ridiculous and it just wastes everyone’s time. He’s been here long enough, his boss should already know his name at least. Frank’s always been content to keep his head down and get on with his job, to stay out the way, to not get mixed up with office politics. He doesn’t cause trouble. 

“And you’ve been here for...?”

“Four years.” He watches as his boss writes in the appropriate sections of the form.

“And what’s your job title?”

“Exterminator.”

“I’m sorry?”

Frank’s boss looks up. Fuck. Frank can feel his face heating up. 

“Tech support,” he corrects, like he’s just being facetious.

His boss smiles with no humour and goes back to writing. 

Frank’s in his boss’s office for 20 minutes. 

That’s 20 excruciatingly long minutes of inane questions such as “do you feel happy here?” “do you feel that you work in a friendly, equal-opportunity environment?” and “have you ever felt inappropriately harassed, either verbally or sexually, by a fellow colleague?” The only small hope spot is at the end of it all when his boss announces that because Frank’s been there so long, he’s applicable for a small promotion. 

“You’ll find out by Friday if you’re successful or not,” says his boss. “Only 70 other people in this section are able to apply for this position!”

There are 86 people who work in Frank’s section. It’d be insulting to not be applicable. 

Still, he can’t help but feel some ray of hope as he smokes down a second cigarette on his break. A promotion would mean better hours with better pay and the added bonus of being able to work from home. Also, it’d mean that all the time and effort that Frank’s put in to working here over the past few years would actually be coming to something. 

He gets a text from Gerard at lunch time that only says “STRBUX L8AAA?? :)” and at 5pm on the dot, he’s logging off his computer and heading out the office before anyone can call him back.

Gerard’s sitting in Starbucks at one of the larger tables today and he waves wildly as soon as he sees Frank walk in. Without even questioning it, Frank gets his coffee and sits at his table. 

“Heya!” Gerard says. He looks different today; he’s washed his hair, Frank realises, and he’s wearing jeans that aren’t covered in paint or filled with holes. He leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Frank’s lips the moment Frank sits down on the sofa next to him. His lips are hot and wet and taste of coffee. “Good day, Frankie?”

Frank fills him in quickly about the possible promotion, which Gerard’s incredibly excited about. 

“That’s amazing! It’s about time you got something back from that place!” Gerard says, like he’s been listening to Frank bitch about his job for years and not just a few weeks. Frank smiles; it’s one of the things he likes so much about Gerard. “Oh, guess what?!”

He pulls out his sketchbook and holds it out before Frank has a chance to respond. 

“So, remember I told you about that idea I had? With the teddy bears and the Black Parade? Well, I started sketching them out as humans, making a few changes and coming up with an actual plot, you know, nothing definitive but just a vague idea, you know? Anyway, I went in to see my publisher today to see what he thought and guess what? He really loved the idea!! He’s told me to finalise the designs and send it in to him at some point this week!!”

Gerard’s so hyped up that speaks incredibly quickly, much faster than usual. 

“Oh my God, Gee, that’s brilliant!” Frank can’t keep the grin off his face. Gerard’s excitement is contagious and he’s practically bouncing in his seat. Frank starts to look through the sketchbook, taking in the rough sketches that fill the page. Characters dressed in black military clothes with a sepia tint to the background stare out at Frank, their expressions cold. It’s all so twisted and disturbed and utterly amazing. 

“I know, right?! And I’ve been coming up with all these ideas and – yeah, you see that guy there? I thought he could be the main character, like he’s the patient and he’s dying and –”

Frank turns the page and gasps.

“Wha – what’s that?” 

Gerard stops and suddenly looks sheepish. “Oh... that... well, I had this idea that part of the parade could be... like a band... and... well –”

“Is that _me_??” Frank asks, pointing at the guitarist in military-dress who is noticeably shorter than the rest of the band and bears an uncanny resemblance to him. 

Gerard’s usually pale demeanour has gone a warmer shade of pink. “Damn, I’d kinda hoped you might not notice... Sorry, I know it’s a bit creepy, drawing you without asking, I should have asked but -”

“That’s so cool!!” Frank squeals, thrilled to be part of Gerard’s weird little world of death. “No ones ever drawn me before! And you made me a guitarist! And – is that my scorpion?!”

Gerard thinks enough of him to include him in this. The thought makes Frank feel warm inside. And he’s noticed the small doodles on the opposite page, unrelated to the black parade that look suspiciously like vague outlines of some of Frank’s tattoos. 

He turns the page – and his grin freezes on his face.

“Oh that,” Gerard hastily explains. “Yeah well, I remembered what you’d said about your novel and I really liked the sound of some of the stuff in it, like the colours and everything, you know? And I’d been working on the Black Parade stuff and I needed a break so I did that – sorry, you don’t mind, do you?” 

“Not at all,” Frank says. His voice sounds oddly strangled as he takes in the detail Gerard’s drawn in on Party Poison. 

The jacket’s all wrong. Gerard’s given him a longer one that touches the tops of Party Poison’s thighs and the mask is the wrong shape and doesn’t hide enough of Party’s face. But the colours... the colours are spot on.

“I liked the sound of him,” Gerard says with a small smile. “He sounds badass.”

Frank laughs. He couldn’t imagine Party Poison and Gerard ever getting along.

~*~*~

One of the perks of being an elite member of Scarecrow is the freedom to drive yourself to work as opposed to relying on public transport, even if it is via a company vehicle. Frank’s not enough of a petrol-head to care about mileage per litre or engine size but his bike is shiny and makes the most impressive rumbling sounds when he revs the engine. It accelerates at an impressive rate and Frank’s bummed out that he hasn’t had a chance to properly try it out on a flat stretch of road, just to see how fast it can go.

He pulls up to a red light, stopping next to a white bus filled with BLI workers. He flips up the visor on his helmet to get a better look, to see if he recognises anyone from the bar. 

Something’s not right though. Instead of staring straight ahead with blank expressions, all the people on the bus are looking at something out the window. For one creepy second, Frank thinks they’re all staring at him and then he realises they’re looking past him, at something on the other side of the road. 

Confused, he turns to look – 

He gasps. 

It’s his pumpkin. His motherfucking pumpkin tattoo – and there’s no mistaking it, he spent years dreaming up the design before he could actually get it done – spray-painted on a billboard. 

He has a pretty good idea who’s handiwork he’s looking at. 

He’s so thrown that he makes the mistake of automatically going to his old work room instead of heading up to surveillance and Korse has to send someone down to get him, which just makes things so much worse. As the lift swoops up through the levels of Better Living Industries to the top floors, Frank feels sick. He takes deep breaths through his nose, trying to calm himself down so he won’t look so obviously emotional.

The doors slide open and a cool female voice says “Welcome to Scarecrow.” 

The first thing that his brain registers is blue. Blue. Everything seems to be bathed in a cold, harsh blue light. He’s momentarily blinded by the unexpected flash of colour and then realises Korse is waiting for him in the centre of the room.

“Forgot you were up here now, Iero?” Korse asks with the barest hint of something in his voice. The light – where the hell is that blue light coming from anyway?? – washes out his skin completely, hiding the wax-texture to his skin, turning the red rimming his eyes into a deep purple. Frank’s eyes stray down to Korse’s exposed chest through the low-cut shirt he always wears and perhaps it’s because of the light, but he’s never noticed before just how sculpted his boss’s body is. He looks like he’s carved out of stone, cold and hard. There’s something undeniably aggressively sexual about Korse that Frank’s never really recognized before and it disturbs him with a chill that runs straight to his bones. 

“A simple mistake,” Frank explains. “Won’t happen again.”

“You were out last night,” Korse says. “Outer edges of Battery City. Any reason?”

Frank feels his paranoia suddenly shoot up to eleven. Was there a tracker on his bike? Or were they just watching him through CCTV?

“Infiltration mission,” Frank says quickly. 

Korse surveys him with narrowed eyes. 

”Indeed,” he says after a moment. “You should keep me informed about these things in future.”

“Roger that,” Frank says, resisting the urge to salute. 

Korse raises an eyebrow. “Did you happen to see the graffiti today? I believe it would have been on your way to work...” 

“The pumpkin? Yeah, I saw it.”

“Any idea of its significance? It’s a new design for them.”

“A few. Each as dumb as the other.”

“Hmm...”

Korse really doesn’t look convinced but maybe that’s just Frank’s paranoia kicking in again. Thankfully, he lets the matter drop and instead shows Frank to his new desk in surveillance. 

Frank will give BLI one thing – Big Brother really is fucking watching. It’s no surprise that they knew where he went last night. His new job consists of watching the wall of monitors (which is where the weird blue light was coming from) and reporting any and every anomaly he sees. 

And Frank really does see it all. Every room in BLI has a camera. Every single street corner of the city has a camera. And then, there’s a whole row of monitors at the far side of the wall which just show different parts of a desert wasteland. Frank realises after reading the writing in the corner of each screen that these must be what the mysterious Zones that surround the city are. 

So that’s where Party Poison lives? Out there? In the desert? Well, that explains the tan and why he’s always covered in dust and dirt...

Monitoring the city during the day turns out to be incredibly boring though. Frank idly glances from screen to screen but sees nothing that doesn’t look too out-the-ordinary. He sees people working hard throughout the building and the only form of life on the streets are the occasional Draculoids on patrol. 

At one point, he risks a look for the pumpkin graffiti. He’s not surprised to see it’s already been painted over. 

By the time lunch rolls around, Frank’s never been more grateful to sit in the weirdly subdued canteen and drink the disgusting coffee. The light hurts his eyes initially after the glare of the computer screens in surveillance and he’s still blinking a bit as Ray sits down opposite him.

“Hey Frank, seen the graffiti?” he asks casually.

“I have actually. Who did it?!”

He already knows the answer but he wants Ray to confirm it.

“Probably Party Poison... it’s his style anyway.”

“What?! How?! That’s not his design!” Frank doesn’t mean to get defensive but... it’s his tattoo. He created it, it’s under _his_ skin, not Party Poison’s.

Ray looks amused. “Well, if it’s _not_ – and this is all hypothetical, obviously – then maybe he’s trying to get a message to the person who _did_ design it?”

“Perfect. Fucking perfect. You tell him -” Frank catches himself. “I mean – if that person wanted a message passed on – hypothetically, of course - they’d probably be asking him _what the fuck is he playing at??_ ” 

“Well, if there was someone around who could pass a message on... then they’d pass it on... probably that same evening too. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” Frank says through gritted teeth. 

“Said messenger might also be telling the original message recipient to maybe chill out a bit too,” Ray says, taking a bite out his sandwich to try and hide his smirk. “He doesn’t toy with his food, Frank; he wouldn’t be leaving that mark just for shits and giggles.”

“Well maybe he shouldn’t leave something that could quite easily lead to the recipients’ identity!!” 

“Huh?”

“Think about it,” Frank mutters darkly. 

He sees the exact moment Ray gets it. Ray might not remember Frank’s tattoo but anyone who knew Frank from Before – or anyone who had access to his files here - would know his birthday falls on Halloween. 

“Oh. Oh dear,” Ray says, realising.

“Yeah. And let’s face it, my boss isn’t a moron. I swear man, he’s already onto me... or he might not be, I could just be finally losing it, I really don’t fucking know anymore.” 

“Hey, hey, you know what you need?” Ray asks with a reassuring smile. “A nice _drink._ ” 

Frank laughs weakly. “I’m warning you, I now have to file a report with the big man himself if I go off on any social events.” 

“Really?! Wow. They’re really starting to lose faith in you, aren’t they?” Ray looks impressed. 

“Loose cannon. Apparently, taking the initiative is really frowned upon here.” 

There’s too much going on in his head as he slumps down in his chair back in Surveillance. He’s still not been able to do anymore research into Fun Ghoul, nor has he managed to find a way to access Party Poison’s Classified folders without drawing attention to himself. And perhaps it’s just paranoia talking, but Frank is _convinced_ that Korse suspects him even more than ever now. 

This whole double-agent thing really fucking sucks, particularly when he doesn’t give a shit about either side. Frank just wants to be left alone, to get on with his life and not have to worry about constantly being in danger and neither of his options are offering him that. On one hand, he’s got the Killjoys who just seem to enjoy fucking with him and causing mayhem wherever they go and on the other, he’s got BLI who are perfectly happy to medicate people into living zombies and control every single aspect of people’s lives. 

It’ll be a relief to get back to his own stupidly dull world with his incredibly crappy job and weird-artist boyfriend, he thinks as he dutifully writes down some notes about how nothing is happening in Battery City. 

He freezes, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

In one part of Battery City, something is about to go down. 

He watches with mounting horror as he sees five people – teenagers – _kids_ – creeping around a corner of a building. They’re not dressed as garishly as some of the Zone Runners that Frank’s seen but they’re definitely not adhering to the Battery City codes of conformity. 

He should call for Korse. He’s supposed to report this kind of thing the moment he sees it happen. 

But they’re just kids.

Frank hasn’t seen anyone under the age of 18 in this world before. He knew the Killjoys were hijacking kids out the orphanages and getting them out into the Zones but he’s yet to actually see a living, breathing teenager. 

One of them reaches into the giant bag they’re carrying and pulls out a can of spray-paint, while the remaining four stand guard. They’re not even trying to hide their faces. Three guys, two girls, and not a single one of them could pass for 17. 

Frank looks around the desk before him. There has to be a button or something he can press, something to set off an alarm on the street to give these kids a warning to run –

“You want to press that one,” Korse says, appearing from out of fucking nowhere behind Frank. He’s already reaching past and pressing one of the buttons on the desk. Frank glances to the kids but they carry on with their graffiti, completely oblivious... and meanwhile, three streets away from them, several Draculoids suddenly look up, alert, and start running with their guns drawn. 

“Are they going to arrest them?!” Frank asks, his voice high with horror. His own experience with Dracs is that they tend to shoot first and ask questions later but maybe – 

That thought dies abruptly as he sees the expression on Korse’s face. 

“They’re just kids!”

“ _Kids_?” Korse echoes, his face twisted in disbelief. “No, Iero, _kids_ wouldn’t make the conscious decision to do this. _Kids_ wouldn’t weight up their options and choose the one that would cause utter chaos and destruction on innocent people who are trying to rebuild their lives. Age is irrelevant – they know what they’re doing and they’re doing it on purpose.”

Well, shit. Score one for Korse.

“But maybe that’s it,” Frank protests. “They’re not old enough to understand the full consequences of what they’re doing! You know what it was like to be a teenager, like anyone made a single good decision back then!”

Korse smiles coldly. “Well then, you could say this will be a learning curve.”

A chill runs through Frank and he’s pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with the air-conditioning. He thinks of Better Living Industries slogan - _the aftermath is secondary..._

“You seem on edge again, Iero, have you taken your medication today?” Korse asks, staring at Frank suspiciously. “If the dose isn’t strong enough, I’d suggest booking in for an appointment –”

“I’m fine,” Frank cuts him off, earning a mildly surprised look off Korse for his efforts. He forces his voice to stay flat and toneless. “I just don’t understand how killing kids is the way to a ‘better’ future.”

Korse pinches the bridge of his nose, already bored of this conversation. “Iero, you’ve seen the damage the Helium Wars cost. 96% of the population obliterated, all dead within minutes, and most of them right in front of the people who did survive. And then after the wars, people were left trying to rebuild and continue their lives but most of them didn’t _want_ to. The population took two sharp drops; one from fatalities of the war and the other from mass suicides. Better Living Industries found a way to keep people alive, to give them a reason to carry on living and rebuild society and keep humanity going... and you’re telling me I should let it all be destroyed because some ‘kids’ are convinced we’re the ‘bad guys’.”

There’s a pause.

“Does that answer your question?” Korse asks coldly.

Frank mutely nods. 

“I’d strongly recommend booking in for an appointment with one of Better Living Industries doctors. You’re due a check-up,” Korse says bluntly and then, without another word, turns and leaves the room.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Frank knows the comedown’s a bitch, he’d be reaching for the nearest BLI pill pot and be swallowing down as many as he could fucking fit in his mouth without choking. He’s never felt more wretched in his life.

The kids are going to die. 

But suddenly, Frank’s not sure if he’s got any right to pass judgement on it. 

He spends the rest of the day staring at every single screen. Every single screen but one.

~*~*~

He goes for a drink with Ray after work. The high-speed ride through the streets makes him feel slightly better with the wind blowing through his hair as Ray clings tightly to his back.

“Are you OK?” Ray asks after Frank’s parked up the bike three blocks away from the same bar they last went to. “I mean, I’m all for speed but you weren’t even wearing a helmet!”

Frank gives his hair a shake. There’s still a strange roaring in his ears. 

“Fuck it all, they’re already watching me,” he says. He spots a BLI security camera on the corner of a street and resists the urge to flip it off. 

“Are you OK?” Ray asks again. 

Frank stops and thinks about his answer. 

“Really, really not,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

“Did you figure it out?” Ray asks suddenly.

“What?”

“You know... who _he_ is?”

“To tell the truth, I hadn’t given it another thought,” Frank says bluntly. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

As they walk into the bar, Frank immediately spots the flash of red hair in one of the booths. He groans loudly. 

“Great. Perfect. Just what I need,” he mutters as they head over. “Another conversation with the lead inmate of Arkham Asylum.” 

Party Poison is sitting in the booth, yellow mask on and red hair a typical mess, and completely engrossed in -

“Is that a sketchbook?!” Frank asks, so surprised that he forgets to be angry.

Party Poison looks up and his face splits into a giant grin.

“Frankie!” he says, sounding delighted, closing the sketchbook and tucking his pencil down the side. “Glad to see you made it! You got my message?”

Frank’s about to answer when Ray suddenly jumps in, asking “Is Kobra Kid here too?”

Party Poison nods, gesturing to the bar. 

“I need to speak to him,” Ray says. “I’ll go get you a drink Frank, I think you need one!”

He grins and walks away through the crowd towards the bar, heading towards the same tall, skinny blond guy Frank saw him talking to that day he got chased down by Dracs. For lack of anything else to do, Frank sits down in the booth opposite Party Poison and stares at him expectantly. 

“Well?” 

Party blinks and gives Frank an inane smile. 

“Well what?” he asks. 

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this. Ray said you wanted to talk to me, so can we just skip all the usual banter and cut straight to the chase?”

Party Poison tilts his head slightly to the side and looks at Frank. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I’m going to shoot the next person who asks me that.” 

“You should be grateful people are concerned about you.”

“Great. A morality lesson. Was that it??”

“You’re really quite angry today, aren’t you?” Party Poison sounds amused. “Anything in particular preying on your mind?”

Frank’s about to ask Party Poison about the kids when his eyes fall on the closed sketchbook on the table and suddenly, he wishes Gerard was here. Gerard with his stupid, adorable smiling face and his huge artist’s portfolio case... although Gerard probably wouldn’t be happy if Frank tried to use said portfolio case for beating wanted terrorists to death. 

“Well, for one thing, I’m genuinely not sure which one I’m more pissed about,” Frank says, dimly registering Ray and Kobra Kid approaching the table. “Either you putting me in danger by pretty much saying ‘HEY! FRANK! I’M TRYING TO GET YOUR PERSONAL ATTENTION!!’ or you stealing the design of my first fucking tattoo!!”

Party Poison blinks.

“What tattoo design?” he asks. 

“Hey, don’t aggravate him, he’s probably had a very rough day at BLI today,” Kobra Kid says in a very patronising tone, sitting down next to Party Poison and placing two drinks on the table. One’s regular pint glass, the other’s a chipped mug that contains what Frank immediately recognises as coffee – he’s enough of an addict to be able to recognise even the vaguest hint of the smell. Before Frank can question it, Kobra Kid slides the coffee towards Party Poison. Frank wonders how Kobra Kid can actually see anything as he’s still wearing those stupidly huge sunglasses indoors but he seems to be managing. 

Ray laughs, sitting down in the last remaining seat next to Frank and pushing a drink towards him encouragingly. “Yeah, you should have seen him at lunch – he looked like he was ready to bite someone’s head off!”

The Killjoys are completely insane, and they’ve clearly picked Frank to be the butt-monkey of this group. Frank stares down at the drink Ray’s got for him. It’s clearly alcoholic, which is just so not what Frank wants right now. He wishes he’d known this place did coffee, a giant cup would have be nice and probably about fifty times better than the crap served up at work. 

“Ha-fucking-ha,” he says, looking up at Party Poison, who’s taking a mouthful of his coffee. “My fucking pumpkin, you jackass! Why did you do it?!” 

“You still have all your tattoos?” Behind his massive sunglasses that obscure most his face, Kobra Kid looks interested. “That’s against Better Living regulations!”

Frank ignores him. “Why did you do it?!” he asks Party.

“I – I don’t know. I needed your attention and the image of the pumpkin just came to me!” He pauses. “Hey, you don’t even have a pumpkin tattoo!!”

“Yes I do!”

“No you don’t! I’ve seen your ink and I did _not_ see a pumpkin!”

“Hang on,” Ray says, holding up his glass, about to take a drink. “Didn’t you get one when we were at school?”

“Yes!!” Frank snaps, exasperated at the same time as Party Poison blinks and asks “You went to school together?” 

“Yeah,” Ray says, dismissively waving his hand. “I vaguely remember you showing it off in the common room – it’s on your back, right?” 

Frank nods as Party asks “You knew each other from Before?!” 

“OK, so he has a pumpkin tattoo. Party saw it and drew one to get your attention – what’s the problem?” Kobra asks, ignoring Party.

“It’s –” Frank hesitates. It’s not that simple. “You just said you didn’t even know I had it, right?”

“Well, I must have seen it,” Party Poison says with a shrug, picking up his coffee mug and taking a quick sip. “I tried to think of an image that would let you know I was trying to get your attention specifically and when I thought of you, I thought of pumpkins! But wait a minute, why didn’t you tell me you and Ray already -” 

“But it’s not just a generic Halloween pumpkin!!” Frank protests, cutting over him. “You did a very stylised version of one!”

“It’s called artistic licence,” Kobra Kid says coldly and woah, OK, there’s no missing the complete dislike in his voice aimed solely at Frank this time. “Party’s got his own style of drawing things.”

“I liked how the mouth turned out,” Party Poison adds. “The eyes were all friendly but the smile on the mouth made it unnerving.”

Frank wants to protest but all the fight suddenly evaporates out of him in one massive go. Why does everything in this world have to be such an uphill struggle?

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “You wanted my attention, you got it. So talk.”

It briefly occurs to Frank that all he has to do is pull his shirt off and show them the design inked under his skin... but that would involve effort. Party Poison meanwhile nods to Kobra Kid, communicating something silently, and then flips open his sketchbook, pulling out a page. 

“Got a list of names for ya,” he says, brandishing a grubby piece of paper. “As requested.”

Frank grabs the piece of paper and quickly scans it; it’s quite a short list in scrawling handwriting. Frank’s attention lingers on the spiking, disjointed letters, on where the pressure is applied on different strokes, how it all angles upwards... It must be an artist thing, but it’s so similar to Gerard’s that Frank feels a pang of loss in his chest. 

“I’ll give you this, I’m impressed,” Party Poison says. Much to Frank’s surprise, he sounds like he means it. “I mean, what you said, about Fun Ghoul being someone we might know. It’s a good theory.”

Kobra Kid gives the minutest of nods with his expression showing how grudgingly he’s agreeing; Frank tries not to look too smug and instead reads the list of names. He’s not sure whether he should be happy or disappointed at how short the list is.

“So, who are these people?” he asks.

“Mostly, people we used to know. Friends of friends of friends, you know?” Party shrugs.

Frank’s scanning down the page when a name jumps out at him.

“Bob Bryar??” he says in disbelief. “How the fuck do you know Bob Bryar?”

“Friend of a... an ex-friend,” Kobra Kid says stiffly with a quick glance at Ray. “They’re dust now.” 

“It’s pretty much a list of anyone we’d met in the past 10 years,” Party Poison adds. “I think Bryar’s a bit of a long shot – He’s already out in the zones but he keeps himself to himself.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Bob,” Frank agrees. 

A warm feeling blooms in Frank’s stomach. Bob is somewhere in this world. And, just as Frank predicted, he hadn’t stayed in the city. 

“I don’t think Bob could be Fun Ghoul,” Frank thinks out-loud, taking a mouthful of his drink and only giving the tiniest of shudders. 

“Why not?” Ray asks. 

“It’s not his style. I just can’t picture him doing the stuff that Fun Ghoul does. Plus the reports say Fun Ghoul was somewhere between 5-foot-5and 5-10 and Bob’s like 6-foot-10 or something stupid.” 

“6-foot-10 to _you_ , Frodo,” Ray says with a smirk, making Party Poison snort and even Kobra Kid’s mouth twitches at the corner a bit. 

“Oh wow, a height joke!” Frank says dryly. “It’s not my fault you’re all freakishly tall!” 

As much as Frank really doesn’t like the idea that he killed Bob, it’s also incredibly unlikely that he even _could_ have. Bob would cripple him with a casual backhand. 

“Who wrote the reports anyway?” Ray asks, frowning. “Because that’s actually quite a large margin of error between 5ft5 and 10.”

“Well... uh... me,” Frank says, shifting uncomfortably. It was his name signed on all the reports regarding Fun Ghoul. 

Kobra Kid makes a dismissive noise. “Figures. Scarecrow’s finest and he can’t even tell a five inch difference.” 

Even Party Poison looks surprised at Kobra Kid’s venomous tone this time. 

“Right, well,” Frank says curtly, tucking the piece of paper inside one of his coat pockets. He stands up and edges his way out the booth, leaving his drink barely touched on the table. “If that’s all, I’m done here.”

As he leaves, he hears Party Poison say to someone – probably Kobra Kid - “You _promised_ you’d be nice!” 

Fuck that. He doesn’t need pity or people being nice to him. If anything, Kobra Kid’s done him a favour. He’s reminded that Frank’s not really one of them and never will be...

He realises he needs to piss before he leaves so he heads to the toilets first. He’s being an asshole, just storming off like this and not even offering Ray a ride back home, but he’s beyond caring at this point. Right now, he wants to be in bed and falling asleep so he can forget about this horrible place where killing kids is socially acceptable, if just for a few hours...

Frank’s just heading for the toilet door to leave when it suddenly swings open and – 

“Oh God, what do you want now?” Frank groans. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Party Poison says. 

Party Poison is dangerous. Deranged. He’s not a hero, he’s a man. A man with glorified ideals and arrogance. 

Of course, he doesn’t see it that way.

“So. What happened today?” he asks, folding his arms and blocking the door. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Frank mumbles. He tries to push past him but Party Poison is already grabbing him, stopping him. 

“Well that’s a shame, coz I still feel real chatty,” Party says casually. “Ray says you’re getting careless. You know what happens to people like you who get careless?”

“They save the princess and live happily ever after?”

“Funny. You know what happens, Frank – they get reassigned.” 

“Nice. I could do with a change of scenery. Maybe they’ll put me down in the post room.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” Party says. “You know, if you can sort post when you’ve been fucking mind-wiped. No trace of personality, individuality or ability to think for yourself, just a mindless BLI puppet located to doing the most menial of tasks and no hope for recovery.”

Frank tries to care about this new piece of information. He tries to feel horrified, scared, disgusted, angry – _anything_. 

“You know,” Frank says, and his voice is so flat and emotionless that he briefly wonders if his drink’s been spiked, “There is only so much you can take before you really just stop giving a crap. After a while, you end up a little bit numb to all the horrors of the modern day world. So you know, fucking excuse me if I’m beyond caring about myself anymore because no one else here seems to anyway!!”

Party Poison rests his hand on the side of Frank’s face, his fingers slipping into the edges of Frank’s hair. The gesture’s so unexpectedly gentle, Frank’s automatic instinct is to lean into Party’s hand, into the comforting rough of his leather gloves. 

“I do,” Party says simply. 

“Why?!” Frank asks, holding his gaze. His heart is thumping painfully in his chest. “Why do you fucking care so much about me?! I’m the bad guy, remember? I killed your friend, I’m working for BLI and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve got some fucking good blackmail against me, I wouldn’t even be here helping you right now!”

It sounds like a list of excuses not reasons, even to Frank, and Party Poison’s not buying it. Frank hates him so much more than usual, standing there in this dingy bathroom, all red, yellow and blue and dirty. His feet leave scuff marks where he walks and he smells god-awful...

And why is he so fucking familiar?!

Frank wants to scream with frustration. The more he gets to know Party Poison, the more he’s certain he _does_ already know him. Ray was fucking right; Frank just doesn’t know how. 

“Fuck you,” Frank snarls, pulling away. “You want to know what happened to me today? A group of your lot were spray-painting colourful smiley faces on a wall.”

Party Poison laughs. “Good on them! I hope they gave you Hell!”

“Fuck. You.” Frank says again. Party Poison doesn’t know what’s happened, and Frank’s not going to get any satisfaction out of being the one to break this news. “We went out a dispatch team.” 

Pause. 

“You know, I checked their files. The eldest was 16.”

Party Poison’s grin drops. It feels like all the air’s been sucked out the room.

“You killed them.” 

There’s no point in beating around the bush.

“Yes.”

For a few seconds, Party Poison can’t seem to say anything. He just stands there in the centre of the bathroom, vivid colour against dull monochrome, his entire body tense and shaking.

“They were working for you,” Frank continues. “And do you know how I know that?”

Party Poison says nothing. He’s breathing quickly through his nose.

“Because they also drew your fucking logo on the wall,” Frank says, unable to keep the anger out his voice anymore. “That stupid emblem you’ve got embroidered on your fucking back so that _everybody_ knows what’s your work and what you’re doing and how many fucking teenagers you’re sending out to fucking die for you!!”

“I didn’t send them out!!” Party Poison half-cries, half-chokes out, finally finding his voice. “You think I’d do that to- - Jesus fucking Christ, Frank, they were _kids_!! How could you – why would you do that?!”

Anger surges through Frank and he’s moving before he knows it, standing toe to toe with Battery City’s Most Wanted. He has to physically peer up but Party Poison already appears to have shrunk several inches as Frank shoves him hard in the chest. 

“You think I had a choice?!?”

“There’s always a choice, you bastard!!”

“Not here!! You’re acting like this is all just a game with no real consequences or something! Well, wake up sunshine!! You break the law and you get punished. It’s a simple concept, why the fuck are you fighting it?!”

Behind the mask, Frank sees Party Poison’s eyes widen. 

“You really need this explaining?!?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes, I think I do because whatever fucking logic you’re working from is clearly _very_ different to mine!!” 

Party Poison’s hands reach up, like he wants to grab Frank and shake him or something. He stops himself, his fingers flexing uselessly in the air.

“If you don’t understand – fuck – I seriously thought – I thought –”

He stops himself, taking a controlled breath. Frank sees him close his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts into coherent sentences.

When he opens his eyes, he gives Frank a long, hard look, worse than any he’s received off Korse.

“You’re the most pathetic kind of human being there is,” Party Poison says. His voice is shaking. “You’re not taking the pills for any other reason than it doesn’t benefit you. You’ll never join the fight and you’ll always cower behind the safety of the big buildings of B-L-fucking-I because -”

“There’s only a fight because you’re making one!!” Frank yells, losing his temper. His voice echoes around the bathroom. It’s only so long before someone comes in, surely...“Do you think those kids would have died if you hadn’t been raising a shit-storm, and for what?!? The right to put stupid logos on your back and dye your hair fucked-up colours?!”

“The right to _chose_ to do that, you fucker!!!” Party Poison loses it and grabs Frank by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up so they’re almost nose to nose. “The right to get up and _choose_ what you do with your life, the right to fucking choose whether or not you want to just exist or actually fucking _live_!! OK, so BL/Ind’s got a nice little cosy city going but can you honestly say it’s going to last?? It might do, it might succeed and you know what, fucking well done to them if it does – but if it doesn’t?? Then what?!”

There’s so much raw emotion and life in Party Poison’s voice, so much honest sincerity in his eyes, Frank can’t take it. He pulls himself out of Party Poison’s grip and leans against one of the cracked sinks. He closes his eyes, suddenly so tired... If he let himself, he could probably fall asleep right here and now and then he’d be home.

“I can’t take this fucking place anymore,” he says, not opening his eyes. “All this fucking going back and fucking forth and double-world shit... it’s driving me insane.”

It’s a bit more vulnerability than Frank would like to admit to anyone. When he opens his eyes, Party is staring at him.

“Back and forth from where, Frank?” 

“Never mind. It was – a slip of the tongue.”

“Back and forth from _where_ , Frank??” Party repeats. 

“Drop it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Frank – ”

“I said drop it. Listen – I’m fucking tired beyond all belief and I’m – I’m not getting _any_ fucking sleep. There is too much fucking grey and grey morality for me to be fucking trying to deal with or care about right now so here’s the agreement – I will work for you. I will find out whatever the fuck I can. However, I will work through Ray only.”

“But –”

“No buts, fucking listen to me,” Frank says, pulling a hand through his hair. It’s really greasy. He can’t remember when he last washed it. “I cannot _deal_ with you, with knowing you, with having to deal with your fucking morality puzzles and questioning of every-single-fucking-thing! If I’m going to do this job and not fuck up, _I cannot see you._ ” 

Party Poison arms are folded defensively across his chest. The mask hides any emotion.

“Fine,” he says. “Deal.”

And it’s that simple. Frank’s so grateful he could cry. 

“Thank you,” he says instead. 

Finally, Party Poison stands to the side to let him leave. Frank’s already making a beeline for the door when - 

“Just so you know though.” Party Poison’s arm shoots out and his fingers close around Frank’s wrist. “Cutting me out of this – it won’t make things any easier. You’ve killed people, Frankie, and you’re probably going to have to kill more. And you can ignore it as much as you want but eventually, you’re gonna have to make a choice. You got the easy way or the hard way... but I promise you, the hard way is far more rewar-” 

“I’d rather go and join the fucking Black Parade,” Frank snaps, yanking his arm free and finally leaving the bathroom. He pretends not to see the expression on Party Poison’s face and refuses to even wonder _why_ Party looks so horrified at that.

Party Poison doesn’t follow him. The drive home is done in under half the time but for the first time, Frank gets no pleasure from the ride at all.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days pass in a strange blur. Frank throws himself into his work in both worlds, trying to forget about Party-fucking-Poison but despite the initial relief that he’s not going to see him again, Frank’s more on edge than ever. He nearly has a heart attack one morning when someone with red hair walks past his cubical in his own world, and then realises it’s only Audrey from the Fraud department and he’s an idiot, it’s the complete wrong shade of red anyway as Audrey’s got more of a natural auburn colour to hers while Party Poison’s is a slap-you-in-the-face-motherfucker-everybody-pay-attention-to-me-cherry-bomb red and why is he still obsessing over him anyway?!

“I’m losing it,” he says, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, ducking down behind the walls of his cubical. He settles for going outside, smoking several cigarettes and jotting down more notes about Better Living Industries. 

Maybe that’s the key, he thinks. Maybe if he can help the Killjoys figure out who Fun Ghoul was, it’ll be the thing that snaps him back to his own reality and stop this whole thing. He’s actually getting pretty good at memorising things in one world so he can work on them in the other, which he tells himself is always a useful skill to possess (although he’s not too sure if it’s one he can put on his CV). 

He doesn’t get to see Gerard much though; hit with pure inspiration for The Black Parade and a looming deadline for several pages he was supposed to have done weeks ago, Gerard disappears again, locking himself in his studio and only emerging for toilet-breaks, coffee and cigarettes. Trying to be supportive, Frank gives him his space but he does go round Gerard’s house once after work, turning up on his doorstep with the largest cup of coffee money could buy and some kind of vaguely-healthy food from Starbucks.

“Aw, Frankie! You didn’t have to –” Gerard says, sounding delighted but Frank cuts him off.

“I’m making sure you actually eat something during this time!! You can’t live off nicotine and caffeine alone!” 

“Best. Boyfriend. Ever,” Gerard says, giving him a quick kiss. In all honesty, his clothes don’t look any more paint-splattered than usual although it’s pretty obvious he’s been using his arm as a colour pallet. “How’s work going? You heard back about the promotion yet??”

Perhaps more coffee was a mistake... Gerard’s already pretty wired. Or maybe he’s just buzzing from the adrenaline. 

“Nothing yet, I’ll find out soon enough.”

“That’s great!!” Gerard says, beaming widely. “Hey, you’re still coming to the gig, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’m curious to see what kind of music Mikey plays -”

“Great!!” Gerard says again. Frank notices him try to discretely check his watch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying,” Frank says, trying to sound fine. “I just wanted to provide fuel and make sure you hadn’t accidentally drunk paint thinner by mistake.”

“That was one time!!” Gerard laughs. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, though it sounds more like a mantra he’s been repeating to himself a lot. “The deadline’s tomorrow morning anyway, so this time tomorrow, I’ll be freeee!!!”

He leans forward and gives Frank another quick kiss; it’s almost aggressive. Man, Gerard must be really stressed. 

Back at Better Living Industries, Frank spends his time exploring Battery City, safe in the security of the highest tower of Scarecrow surveillance. Battery City actually reminds him a lot of the world he came from. For one thing, despite the high-tech nature of everything else, there’s still public transport that consists of trains and buses which run every ten minutes from 5am to midnight. They’re always on time, even with how at certain times in the very early morning and incredibly late at night there are power glitches that cause everything to momentarily stop. 

Frank hates himself a little for being impressed by the efficiency of it all; back at home, while the drive to work is a bitch most days, he sticks with it because the trains are notoriously unreliable. If the drivers aren’t on strike, then the train engine’s failed, and if it’s neither of those, then you can bet someone will have thrown themselves under the wheels during rush hour. He remembers what Korse said about the suicide rate, about how it rose to dangerous levels before Better Living Industries stepped in. A quick check on the records confirms it’s virtually non-existent now. 

_Oh sure,_ Party Poison’s voice suddenly sounds through Frank’s head. _People aren’t dying but they sure as fuck aren’t living either._

People man the trains. Even during the hours when nobody gets on, the trains still run. Unemployment simply doesn’t exist here. Everybody has a job, everybody has a purpose. The buses drive their routes through empty streets at 3 in the morning, calling at every empty stop diligently. People get on with their lives, going through the motions and patiently keeping themselves occupied. The mechanics who service the trains do their jobs with devoted attention and expertise. Kids go to and from schools wearing their uniforms and incredibly well behaved. 

There’s no denying it – Battery City works. Everything runs as it should and thanks to the pills, no one seems unhappy that this is their life now. Yes, ok, Frank’s sure it goes against some kind of moral or ethical law, but really… if it’s keeping people alive, keeping them safe… is it really wrong? 

He looks out at the desert screen at the Zones. Nothing ever really shows up on them – most of the Zones are completely uninhabitable due to the radioactive fallout from the Helium Wars. If Party Poison doesn’t get himself gunned down at some point, he’ll probably eventually die from radiation poisoning or cancer. 

Movement on one of the city screens suddenly catches Frank’s attention. It’s more teenagers, sneaking around the streets.

“Wow,” Frank murmurs with a grin. “These kids really don’t give up do they?”

He rolls his eyes and hits a few buttons. An alarm goes off on the street, making the kids immediately scatter and meanwhile, several streets away, the nearest Draculoid patrol starts running at top speed in the wrong direction.

~*~*~

Gerard’s system of keeping signs by Frank’s bed as a way of keeping track of what day it is and where he is works a treat, especially on the morning where Frank wakes up to read “Thursday. Home. Mikey’s gig with Gerard!”

Thursday morning, however, is also the morning when Frank gets trapped in his car. Against all odds, he makes it into work early so he decides to chill in his car, drinking his coffee, listening to a CD and smoking an extra cigarette. The whole thing is quite pleasant... until some asshole in a BMW pulls up and parks so closely that Frank can’t open his door. He sits there for a few minutes, trying to work out what to do, and he’s trapped for a good 10 minutes and is _this_ close to winding down the window for an escape route when it occurs to him that his ‘prison’ has wheels and he’s a fucking moron. 

The rest of the day passes, mercifully, uneventfully. Frank loses himself in his work, spends his breaks smoking and scribbling down more and more ideas about Fun Ghoul, Party Poison and the world of Battery City. The more he thinks about it, the more he realises it actually is a _really_ good set up for a science fiction novel. Frank hopes that maybe, when he isn’t actually living through this nightmare, he might be able to do something with the idea. At the very least, he’ll have something to show the psychiatrists. 

No one bats an eyelash when he ducks out the office half an hour early. He sneaks into the toilets to change out of his usual work clothes into some more gig-appropriate wear and toys with the idea of putting on some eyeliner, before dismissing the idea with a laugh. He could get away with eyeliner and dressing up when he was in his early twenties but not now. 

He realises that he doesn’t even know what kind of music Mikey plays. For all he knows, Mikey’s band could be some soothing country-folk mix (although he prays to God it’s not; fond of Gerard as he is, there are some things he won’t do for anyone). He shrugs and pulls on a thin cardigan over his Misfits t-shirt. 

The gig’s held at a tiny, grotty club on the wrong side of town in a venue that’s as notorious for its drug deals as it is for the bands who’ve played there. Gerard texts to say he’s already inside so Frank gives his name on the door (“Hey, this might sound a bit weird, but I think I’m down as … ‘Frank, shirtless wet guy?’”) and goes in. The venue’s already packed by the time Frank gets in and some heavy-metal thrash band are on stage with the pit going strong.

“Hey handsome, what’s a good-looking guy like you doing here in a place like this?” 

A pair of arms wrap around him from behind and lips press to his ear. He grins and turns around to see Gerard beaming at him.

“Glad to see you made it!” Gerard says delightedly. 

“Glad to see you’re still alive!!” Frank replies. Even in the dark lighting, he can see the bags under Gee’s eyes are particularly vicious. “You get your deadlines done?” 

Gerard laughs. “Yeah yeah, all good!”

He says something else but Frank can’t hear him over the sound of the band. 

“What?!” Frank yells. 

He says it again but he’s drowned out by the screech of feedback. He rolls his eyes and points to the bar, to which Frank nods.

“God YES,” he says, and allows himself to be led by the hand through the crowd towards it. 

“What you drinking?” Gerard asks when the bartender comes over to serve them. 

Anything but BombBunny, Frank thinks. 

“Don’t mind! What’s your poison?” he yells, struggling to hear himself over the music. 

“Coke.”

Frank blinks, not sure if he heard him properly.

“I don’t drink,” Gerard explains off his look. “Long story. If you want a drink though –”

“Nah, it’s fine – I’ll have a coke too!” 

Gerard orders their drinks and they go stand back in the crowd on the edges of the pit but they can’t talk above the noise so they stand next to each other instead, watching the band. At one point, Frank reaches out and grabs Gerard’s hand; his fingers are rough and Frank can feel spots of paint flecked all over them. Gerard laces his fingers between Franks and gives him a squeeze, and Frank tries not to grin too much. It’s sappy but he’s really missed him.

“Mikey’s on next!” Gerard says when the band finishes. 

“Awesome!” Frank grins, still holding his hand. “So, how’d things go with the Black Parade?”

“It was great!! Yeah, my publisher loved it, like _really_ loved it. She wants there to be a proper story arc, I’ve been commissioned to do a six-issue storyline!”

“Oh my God, that’s fantastic!!” Frank throws his arms around Gerard’s neck and kisses him. Someone behind them yells “fags” but they ignore it. Frank can’t even be bothered to flip them off. Gerard looks slightly embarrassed when they break apart but also pleased. 

“Christ Frankie, anyone would think it was your comic with that reaction,” he says, ducking his head. 

“Sorry, sorry… It’s just been a while since I’ve heard good news for anyone. Besides Gee, this is a big deal! It’s so fucking cool!” 

Gerard grins, showing off all his ridiculously tiny teeth. They talk for a bit longer about what it means now that Gerard’s going to be an awesome world-famous comic book artist when Gerard suddenly asks “Speaking of creativity, how’s things going with your novel?”

Frank makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “Not now,” he says carelessly, “This is about you!!” 

He doesn’t want to have to think about it right now. He doesn’t want to have to think about double agents, perfectly sinister cities or amnesiac red-heads. Right now, his boyfriend has just had his first big break. Right now, he’s at a gig and he’s buzzed for to see the band. Right now, he’s happy. 

Gerard frowns and he’s about to say something when there’s suddenly a screech of a guitar and the audience goes wild, cheering as the next band comes on stage. 

“There’s Mikey!! On bass!!” Gerard yells excitedly (and slightly unnecessarily). He points, as if Frank would have any trouble spotting the incredibly skinny man in a band of -

Frank suddenly chokes on his mouthful of Coke. 

“Frank! You ok?!” Gerard’s got a hand on Frank’s shoulder, worried. 

Frank wipes his mouth with his sleeve, staring at the guitarist onstage next to Mikey. 

“What’s Ray Toro doing up there on stage with your brother?!!” he yells. 

“You know Ray?? Awesome!! He’s the guitarist, him and Mikey have been friends for years! How’d you know him?”

“He works- We went to school together!” Frank catches himself in time. 

It’s just a coincidence. That’s all it is. It’s just a coincidence… but it’s a fucking weird one. 

When the band finish their set and step off stage, they head through the crowd to the bar where Gerard waves them over. Frank can’t take his eyes off Ray. Technically, he hasn’t seen him in years. He wonders if Ray will recognise him... 

“Frank Iero!? Get outta here!! No way man, what are you doing here?!?” 

Ray pulls him in for a quick hug despite being sweaty from the stage. His curly hair seems to have exploded from the heat.

“Gerard invited me,” Frank explains. 

“Gerard?!” Ray asks, surprised. “As in Mikey Way’s Gerard?! Small world!!” 

“You have no idea,” Frank agrees, taking a mouthful of Coke. 

Not for the first time in recent weeks, Frank finds himself catching up with Ray Toro. Gerard and Mikey disappear off to talk to other band people, leaving Frank and Ray alone at the bar. Ray’s a lot more immediately friendly here, Frank notices. They chat about what they’ve been doing since they left high school (Frank omits his alternate-world adventures); Ray’s recently started working in the IT department of his job as tech support.

“… and OK, so it’s a bit rubbish at the moment but eventually, it should progress up into actually working and developing tech and software!” Ray explains.

Frank hides a smile at the irony. 

“So, how long have you known Mikey?” he asks, curiosity building. 

“A few years now,” Ray says. “I met him at college - him and Gerard actually. They’re pretty decent guys, I can’t believe you actually know them!!”

“Yeah, I know! Weird, right?”

“I don’t know,” Ray says with a sudden sly smile, “Gerard’s been talking about this awesome short guy he’d met who’s covered with tattoos and writing a book. When he said you were coming tonight, we – the entire band, I mean – were looking forward to finally meeting you!”

Frank’s wondering if there’s any way at all in which he can ask if Ray happens to know someone who may or may not already go by the moniker of Kobra Kid or at least have a thing for snakes when Gerard and Mikey show up, flanked by a few other band people. Gerard grabs Frank’s hand and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“Hey, we’re thinking of heading out to a club,” says one of the guys who Frank vaguely recognises as the drummer. “You guys coming?”

“Sure,” says Mikey. “Gee? Frank? 

“Actually, we’ll give it a miss,” Gerard cuts in before Frank can reply. He gives Frank’s hand a squeeze. “Frankie’s still got work tomorrow, we need an early night.”

Oh. OH. 

“Are you sure?” Ray asks, not getting it. “You could always join for just one drink –”

“Nah, I’m sure,” Frank says. He’s determinedly not looking at anyone else but he can still sense everyone else’s amused looks. “Ray, dude, seriously though, it was good seeing you – we need to stay in touch.”

~*~*~

“Oh man, could we have been any less subtle?!” Gerard shrieks with laughter the moment they’re both in Frank’s car.

“Fuck ‘em all,” Frank grins. “They’re just jealous. So… your place or mine?”

“Mine’s closer.” 

“Right.”

The drive to Gerard’s is one of the most torturous ones to ever exist, mainly due to how Gerard’s hand keeps stroking Frank’s thigh which does nothing for Frank’s concentration on the road.

“If I crash, the blame will fall entirely on you,” Frank points out when they stop at a red light.

“Live a bit, Frankie!!” Gerard laughs. “I trust your driving.”

Frank’s about to retort when Gerard’s hand suddenly slides up further up and in, getting dangerously close to Frank’s crotch. The entire car jolts forward as Frank’s foot slips off the clutch.

He drives as fast as he can after that. Frank’s incredibly good at focusing on a specific task when he needs to.

At his house, Gerard doesn’t even wait for them to get inside before he’s pinning Frank up against the front door, attacking his lips with his own. Frank kisses him back hungrily, clinging to Gerard’s arms. 

“Shouldn’t - shouldn’t we go inside?” Frank eventually manages to gasp out. Gerard’s undeterred and makes a low noise that’s muffled by the fabric of Frank’s t-shirt. The tip of his tongue traces over Frank’s scorpion tattoo. “I – uh – don’t you have neighbours?!” 

“Yup,” Gerard says, his breath hot and wet against the skin of Frank’s neck. “But they’re probably enjoying the show.”

“Didn’t realise you were such an exhibitionist…” 

Frank tries to look past Gerard’s head but all he can see is the brightness of the porch light, blinding out everything else in the street. They’re too exposed, _anyone_ could be watching…

His hands slide down Gerard’s arms and come to rest on his hips; looping his fingers under Gerard’s belt, he pulls Gerard’s body as close to his as possible and rocks his hips against Gee’s. Gerard suddenly – unexpectedly – lets out the most beautiful guttural moan and his own hands tangled in Frank’s hair suddenly grip. The pain is sudden, sharp and sweet, and it forces Frank’s head back slightly, exposing his neck even more, something which Gerard immediately takes advantage of. 

“Now now Frankie… play nicely…”

There’s the jangle of keys and suddenly the front door’s open and Gerard’s warmth is abruptly gone, but he’s already grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling him into the darkness of the house. They stumble up the stairs into the part of the house Frank’s never been into before and then they’re in a room – Gerard’s hand is gone, leaving Frank momentarily standing in the dark, then there’s the rustle of blinds and the room is dimly lit with pale blue moonlight. 

“Hey, is this your room?” Frank asks, somewhat stupidly, seeing as the room could only belong to Gerard, what with the random canvases stacked against the wall and the bookshelves filled with comic books and old horror movie DVDs. 

“Well, it’s not Mikey’s… Hey, come here.”

He says this in an unusually quiet, gentle tone, holding out his hand to Frank. Frank crosses the floor in three steps and then they’re kissing again, Gerard’s arms wrapped around him. Frank suddenly feels a swoop of nerves as Gerard’s long fingers are tugging on the edges of his t-shirt; Frank immediately lifts his arms up, letting himself be undressed. 

“Ahh, fuck... I love your tattoos,” Gerard moans suddenly, and then there’s a click and light fills the room. Frank blinks, momentarily blinded – and then he feels Gerard’s hands pressing to his back.

“Frankie... this is gorgeous,” he murmurs. “I love this, the way it looks... the grin makes it creepy but the eyes make it trustworthy...”

“My pumpkin?” 

“Mmm.” 

Suddenly, Gerard lightly traces it with the tip of his hot, wet tongue; Frank gasps, his back arching as every nerve in his body suddenly seems to be on high-alert. Gerard keeps moving, his tongue sliding all the way down Frank’s spine over each individual ridge, and then his hands are gripping Frank’s hips and spinning him around and pushing him up against the – 

“Ouch!!”

The shelves rattle dangerously behind Frank as they collide painfully into his back. 

“Shit, are you OK??” 

Frank looks down and – oh. Looks down. Gerard’s on his knees, his dark hair dishevelled and his lips swollen and would be looking so completely and utterly fuckable if it wasn’t for the look of worry on his face. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just... wasn’t expecting shelves...”

“Oh... you sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine, really!” 

Gerard’s lips twitch, like he’s trying not to laugh. He leans in and kisses Frank’s stomach and the pain’s immediately gone. Gerard moves lower and Frank gasps and grips the shelf –

And then there’s a horrifically loud CRACK as part of the shelf snaps and the lamp on it plummets to the ground, smashing and plunging the room back into darkness.

Frank jolts upright like he’s been burnt. He looks at Gerard, who’s still on his knees. Even with just the moonlight illumination from outside, he can see Gerard’s eyes and mouth are comical O shapes. Simultaneously they both burst out laughing. 

“Oh man, this isn’t going as I’d hoped,” Gerard laughs, shaking his head and pulling his hand through his hair. 

“Uh... maybe we should move this to the bed?” 

“Might work,” Gerard nods and slowly climbs to his knees, staggering slightly. He’s turned and heading towards the bed in the middle of the room, and perhaps it’s because the atmosphere is now just so stupid and relaxed that Frank feels a rush of daring but suddenly, he reaches out and grabs Gerard’s wrist with a small “hey.” He grabs the hem of Gerard’s t-shirt and pulls it up, over his head.

“So we’re kinda on even footing here,” he explains with a smile. 

It’s the first time Frank’s seen Gerard shirtless and he’s – he’s actually exactly as Frank suspected. He’s pale and slightly chubby. 

He’s the most attractive person in the world Frank’s even seen. 

He leans in and kisses him again, savouring the feel of skin on skin. It isn’t until he feels the mattress under him that he realises he’s horizontal and Gerard’s manoeuvred him so they’re lying on the bed. There’s a dull crash as Gerard pushes a sketchbook off the bed out the way and then they’re kissing again. Gerard’s weight is warm on top of him and Frank can feel Gerard’s erection through his jeans, but then Frank starts to wonder if maybe Gerard’s waiting for him to do something. He’d kinda got the idea that Gerard liked being the one in control but he’s not really _doing_ anything – not that the kissing isn’t fantastic, but he thinks maybe he’s supposed to do something – maybe Gerard’s waiting for _him_ to take the lead? 

His hands slide towards Gerard’s belt buckle. Gerard instantly pulls back. 

“Hey, why so eager?” he says with a grin. Frank can’t really see the finer details of Gerard’s face but he can see he’s grinning... and with a rush of excitement, Frank suddenly realises Gerard has – and always has had - a game plan. 

“Come on Gee... I’m _this_ close to coming in my pants right now...” He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate but he’s always believed honesty is the best policy. 

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely...”

Gerard’s trails down Frank’s chest with light kisses, stopping when he reaches Frank’s hips.

“Third time lucky?” he says with a grin.

As Gee tugs on his trousers, Frank lifts his hips slightly, kicking his jeans and boxers off, and then he’s completely naked, spread out on Gerard’s bed and his cock’s finally free. Frank can’t help the moan that escapes his lips as Gerard licks the tip and then completely envelopes it in his mouth and there is no way in hell he’s going to be able to last very long at this rate and – shit, when was the last time he trimmed anyway?? – and – and fuck, Gerard’s _good_ at this.

“Fuck – fucking Hell Gee – I’m not gonna – I’m –”

He cries out this strangled noise that’s somewhere between swearing and screaming as he comes. For a few seconds, he lies there, gasping as his chest rises and falls. His entire body is humming but he’s not completely satisfied. Gerard sits back, pushing his hair out his face and wiping the corner of his grinning mouth. He’s so... so fucking confidently _cocky_. Frank wants to see him come undone.

He grins and wraps an arm around Gerard’s neck, pulling him roughly down to kiss him again. Frank can taste himself on Gerard’s tongue, salty and bitter, as Gerard’s finger’s grip Frank’s biceps, his nails digging in and leaving little half-moon marks embedded between the stars tattooed. This time, he doesn’t try and stop Frank as Frank unbuttons his jeans; instead, all he does is shift a bit so that they’re both lying on their sides facing each other, and then, noticeably, he gulps. 

“OK?” Frank asks. 

Gerard only nods quickly in response, breathing quickly in and out through his nose. He’s suddenly so very visibly nervous, all his usual dominance and confidence diminished. 

Frank pushes some strands of hair out of Gee’s face and kisses him again, reaching down as he does and fumbling with Gerard’s zipper, pushing the material away. Gerard’s breath suddenly comes out in a burning gasp in Frank’s mouth as Frank’s fingers wrap around his cock. It’s hot and firm, and there’s a few beads of pre-come already leaking out, which Frank smears around the tip with his thumb, earning a small whimper from Gerard. He starts sliding his hand up and down Gerard’s cock, slowly at first, trying to sync the rhythm with how Gerard moves into him. Frank always imagined Gerard would be louder but he’s surprisingly quiet and non-verbal, and for a while, the only sounds he makes is his breath hitching over and over again. The only extra clues Frank gets when he’s about to come is that he suddenly gasps, and his fingers grip painfully into Frank’s shoulder; Gerard’s entire body tenses and his back arches, and then, shaking, he completely comes apart as he buries his face in the crook of Frank’s neck. 

Frank quickly wipes his hand off on the edge of the duvet as Gerard drops heavily down onto the bed, his hair fanning over his face. His eyes are just visible, blinking lazily. 

“Hey,” he says with a smile.

“Hey,” Frank replies. He can’t keep the grin off his own face. 

He lays his head on the pillow next to Gerard’s so they’re facing each other; Gerard reaches out and lazily traces down patterns over Frank’s arm and Frank watches him as his breathing slows. He waits until Gerard’s completely asleep before he pulls the duvet over them both. 

He doesn’t want to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to fall asleep because (not like that fucking song as Frank’s one hundred percent sure that Steve Tyler didn’t have to deal with parallel worlds) if he does, then that means that he’s not going to be here anymore with Gerard, and he doesn’t want to go. He’s happy here, it’s nice and safe...

He yawns and blinks slowly, watching the room fade from darkness to light. The shapes shift as the light changes and then, without him being really aware of the exact point of change, he’s in his room in the Better Living World. 

He looks to his side. The bed is empty but there’s a strange haze in the space... a faint outline of the shape of a man... exactly in the spot where Gerard is sleeping in another world. 

Frank hesitates, then kisses his fingertips and holds his hand lightly where Gerard’s shoulder would be. The air is faintly warm for a second, and then it’s gone. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispers.

~*~*~

“Iero, a word.”

“Yes?”

Smoothly, Frank turns away from the surveillance screens and looks at Korse. 

“Project Two-Zero-One-One is almost ready for testing again. Would you still be interested in being the subject?” 

Korse asks this in a way that tells Frank he really doesn’t have a choice in it. 

“Absolutely.” 

Korse nods. “Meet me in Testing Room 6 after lunch.”

Frank hopes Project Two-Zero-One-One doesn’t require any amount of pre-knowledge. He’s fucked if it does. 

He also can’t help but ponder on how boringly clinical the name is. It’s so typically Better Living Industries. If it had been up to him, he’d have named it something more fitting, like Mysterious-Mystery-Project-of-Doom or Project Korse-is-a-Creepy-Freak-Stop-And-Ask-Me-How. 

“Of course, this is highly classified,” Korse adds before turning to leave. 

“Got it.”

~*~*~

“So, what’s in Testing Room 6?” Frank asks Ray as soon as he joins him for lunch.

Ray gives him a funny look.

“Classified, mostly. You’d probably know more than me.”

Frank can’t outright admit he has no idea so he tries a new tact.

“OK OK, but what do you _think_ is in there? You know, considering I found you sulking around outside it that one time...”

Ray laughs. “Alright alright, I ... I don’t know exactly. Word around the Zones is that BLI’s been working on some new machine that’s meant to ‘revolutionise’ things, but no one’s been able to find out exactly what that means. The best we could come up with from our inside people – barring you, obviously – is that it’s some new kind of temporal molecular displacement theory.” 

Frank coughs and spits his mouthful of coffee over the table.

“Temporal mol – _what??_ ”

He’s read enough science fiction novels to know what that means.

“It’s just a theory Frank, relax! Well, I mean, they’d tried it out on some Dracs but it had some pretty horrific results. As far as I can tell, the whole project’s on hiatus while they work on getting the theory right for now. The amount of energy time travel alone would take would probably be enough to drain the city of power – ”

“Ray, what year is it?”

“What?”

“What year is it??” 

Ray laughs, as if Frank’s being silly.

“Answer the fucking question!!” Frank shrieks. Several people around the canteen look around in alarm.

“Calm down man!” Ray hisses. “You’ll end up dosed up again if you’re not careful! Why –” 

Frank presses his hands to his forehead. The entire room feels like it’s spinning, whirling completely out of control...

“It’s the wrong fucking questions again,” he murmurs. “I’m so fucking _stupid_... We’re using _rayguns_ , for crying out loud!!” 

“Frank –”

“You said drain the city of power, right?” Frank keeps his hands over his face. “I didn’t connect it... The random power surges that’ve been fucking up the trains... It’s never really affected me because they’re always when I’m at home, either just waking up or falling asleep!!” 

Ray looks confused. “What? Dude, you’re making no sense.” 

“Ray.” Frank lowers his hands. Takes a deep breath. Looks Ray in the eyes. 

There are lines around Ray’s eyes that weren’t there last night at the gig.

“What. Year. Is. It.”

“... It’s 2019, of course. Frank, what –”

_Two thousand and nineteen._

“It’s works,” Frank says in a rush, leaning in. “It fucking **works**.”

He can’t – he can’t let himself process the full implications of everything now. Time travel, for fucks sake. Motherfucking time travel. He’s a fucking time traveller and he didn’t even get to use a cool car or phone box.

“Ray, we have to get out of here.”

“What, now? Wait, what do you mean ‘it works-”

“Ray!!” Frank barely controls himself from screaming. Why is Ray being so fucking slow and questioning everything?! “We have to go!!”

“Hold on, calm down.” Ray grabs Frank’s wrist tightly. “Take a deep breath... Look at me... good... OK now, what do you mean ‘it works’?” 

“Where I’m from – I woke up and – last night I was – you were –”

“Try again,” Ray says, shaking his head. “Keep it simple.”

“I – I’m from 2011.”

... Despite everything, it still sounds stupid to say it out loud.

There’s an uncomfortably long pause. Ray stares at him, his facial expression unusually blank. 

“I’ve been through it before, I - I just didn’t know that’s what made this happen!” Frank explains, trying to keep his voice down; some Draculoids at the other side of the canteen keep looking over. “Korse thought the machine didn’t work but it’s fixed now, or at least he thinks it is, and now he’s got me trying it out after lunch and I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to do now but if it’s meant to send you somewhere else then –”

“Come on,” Ray says, suddenly standing up. He’s still incredibly – abnormally – calm.

“What –”

“We’re going to be late. Lunch is almost over,” he says, giving Frank a very funny look. 

“I’m not making this up!!” Frank says desperately. How can Ray not believe him, the dick?!

“Get up! It’s not a funny joke!” Ray says, yanking Frank’s wrist and hauling him up.

It’s hopeless. He’s going to have to go back through that machine and he’s not even sure what the fuck it’s going to do to him this time around. He’d make a run for it, except he doesn’t even know where he could run to; maybe he could head to that bar and hope that someone there takes pity on him and tells him how to find someone who can help him... except who the fuck can help him now? Party Poison probably would have had Frank’s back if Frank hadn’t already turned it on him.

He wishes Gerard was here. 

Ray’s grip on his arm is almost painful as he steers him out the canteen and towards the lifts. 

“Ray,” he tries again. “I swear, I –”

Ray hits the button for the basement.

“Don’t say anymore. They’re probably listening,” he says as Frank stares at him in amazement. Ray catches his eye and smiles. “So... that far, huh? Explains a few things. Where abouts you up to?”

“We’ve just met!” Frank says, relief coursing through him. “Well, re-met, technically. You just played a gig with Gerard’s brother –”

It’s like a bucket of ice has just been dumped over him. 

“Ray... you... you knew Kobra Kid from Before the Helium Wars... didn’t you?” he asks slowly.

Ray nods. “Yeah... You knew him too, Frank... Me and him were in a band.” 

No way. It’s not... it’s not fucking possible. There were other people in that band. It might not have even been the same band. 

Ray clears his throat and then adds “That band. The one you saw with –”

“Please, can we not do this – now?” Frank’s almost ashamed how his voice breaks at the end. He thinks of Gerard with his greasy black hair falling into his face and drooling slightly, sleeping peacefully where Frank left him. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts and focuses on the image of Gerard. 

It’s not fair. Gerard was his safe place. Gerard is the weird artist Frank’s completely falling for, he’s the one really good thing Frank’s got going in his life at the moment. Gerard can’t be _here_ , he can’t be in this horrible nightmare world where everybody’s so guarded and terrified or utterly insane... 

Except it’s not a nightmare world. It’s the future. Somewhere along the line, the world ended and if Gerard’s not here, if he’s not – Frank refuses to let himself to even think the name - then the alternate is so much worse. 

The elevator pings, bringing Frank out of his pity party and the doors slide open –

And Korse is standing on the other side, flanked by two guards.

“Oh for fu –” Frank yells.

“You’re right Toro,” Korse says coldly, cutting him off. “We are _always_ listening.”

Well... shit.

Behind Korse, Frank can see his bike parked exactly where he left it, and he can’t see any Draculoids hiding in the shadows. If they ran, they might make it to the bike but Korse and the Dracs have guns and despite everything, it still never even occurred to Frank that he should carry one at all times...

And then, Ray’s wrapped an arm around Frank’s neck and there’s something hard and cold pressing to his forehead.

“Are you holding me at gunpoint?!” Frank cries out in disbelief as Korse laughs loudly.

“What are you going to do, Toro? Take him hostage? We can dust you!” 

Korse and the Dracs raise their guns. 

“True,” Ray says calmly, pressing his own gun further into Frank’s skin. “But you need him alive. I’ve seen the results for Two-Zero-One-One – everyone else got fried from the inside out.”

“Fried?!” Frank shrieks.

“We can just ghost him then,” Korse says carelessly.

“Is there actually a difference between ghost and dust?” Frank asks and gets a painful prod from the barrel of Ray’s gun in rebuke. 

“You need him conscious,” Ray says. “Ghost him and he goes right back and you’re left with an empty shell. Surely you must have realised that.”

Frank’s not sure if he likes how calmly everyone’s talking about killing him. He sees Korse and the Dracs lower their guns but that doesn’t mean much because Ray’s still holding one to his head. Ray gives him a shove forward; Frank’s legs move stiffly towards his bike. He doesn’t dare look Korse in the eye as they go pass but he can feel his cold, black eyes following every movement. 

“Get on, start the engine and drive where I tell you,” Ray hisses in his ear, climbing on behind him. The gun’s removed from his forehead but then it’s immediately being pressed obviously into his side. 

Korse snorts. “Run all you like, we’ll find you easily enough. You’ll never get past the tunnels, Toro.”

“Try me,” Ray says coolly. He nudges Frank with his gun. “And it’s Jet Star.” 

Frank can’t hold back the triumphant laugh that escapes his throat. He revs the engine and then the bike’s moving, heading towards the exit; Frank keeps expecting to feel a raygun blast or the bike to topple over or Dracs to suddenly jump out but when he looks in his mirrors, Korse and the Dracs are gone and the elevator doors are closing.

“I didn’t know you were so badass!!” Frank yells as they speed out the car park and onto the road. 

“I have my moments,” Ray says, and Frank can tell he’s grinning too. 

“Where we going?” Frank asks, seeing a t-junction coming up.

“Head for the bar, I’ll give better directions from there – fuck, they’re chasing already.”

Frank looks in his mirrors and sure enough, there’s already three white motorbikes with Draculoid riders pulling out the car park. The gleam of their white guns reflects, all pointed firmly at -

“Are they aiming at us?!” Frank asks.

“Step on it!!” Ray screams but Frank’s already accelerating. 

“Hold on!!” Frank yells. Fuck, they haven’t even got helmets on... if they hit anything... 

The wind whips past his face, blowing his hair everywhere. Grey buildings and white buses go past in a blur. Ray’s gripping tightly to Frank’s shoulder with one hand, his own blaster out and firing. In his wing mirror, Frank sees one of the Draculoids topple off the bike and the bike goes swerving wildly into a wall. The other two Dracs don’t even look back.

“Watch out!!” Ray yells as Frank’s bike suddenly wobbles dangerously underneath them. 

Frank looks up and swerves wildly to avoid a bus, nearly toppling over as he does. There’s more raygun blasts, and then one of the windows in the bus Frank just avoided explodes. The bus immediately screeches to a halt, skidding onto the wrong side of the road and crashing directly into another oncoming bus. One of the pursuing Draculoids goes straight into the back of it. 

Ray’s firing his gun like crazy at the remaining Drac who’s blasting back. A shot rings out, closer than Frank’s heard any before and Ray gives a yell of pain, then there’s another blast of white hot light and glass shards fly everywhere; hot pain flashes through Frank’s face and out the corner of his eye he can see there’s only a smoking black mess of tangled metal where one of his mirrors used to be. 

He turns down the usual road and out the corner of his eye, he sees more Draculoids joining the chase. 

“They know the route I’m taking!!” Frank yells, horrified.

He swerves abruptly off the road, cutting across the wrong side of the road and bumps up roughly onto the pavement. In his remaining mirror, he sees the Draculoids follow blindly, the mob swerving all onto the wrong side of the road; over the roar of engines, the sound of gunfire’s far too loud. The turning on the left is coming up –

And then, he turns hard right, cutting back across the road and narrowly missing an oncoming bus, mounting the pavement again and down a side alley. 

“What are you doing?!” Ray yells, sounding panicked.

“Taking a short cut!!”

Frank knows the streets and bus schedules like the back of his hand. After all, he’s spent countless hours studying them, watching them ridiculously closely from his chair in Scarecrow. 

The alleyway is cluttered with trashcans but Frank doesn’t slow down; the change of plan would only have delayed the Dracs by a few seconds before they regrouped. He just hopes that a few of them got taken out by the bus. The sounds of motorbikes are already echoing down the alley behind them; a trashcan near to Frank suddenly explodes with a flash of light. 

“Doctor D, this is Jet Star, we’re about to head out the North exit onto Route Guano,” he hears Ray saying into a radio behind him. There’s a crackle and the hiss of static and someone replies but Frank can’t hear what they say. “We need assistance, there’s a fire fight about to go down and it won’t be milkshake!! I repeat, we need all assistance possible, North exit onto Route Guano!” 

The alley ends and Frank swerves back out onto a road, picking up on the new route. Something wet and hot is running down his face, matting strands of his hair and sticking them to his cheek. He takes another turning, bringing them onto the road the bar’s located on.

“You know where we are?!” Frank yells.

“Yeah!! Go left coming up here!!” 

Obediently, he takes the turning. 

It’s the mouth to a giant tunnel. 

The tunnels all line the walls of Battery City. They lead out into the Zones. He knows this. He also knows there’s always a guard on duty.

“GO!” Ray yells, sensing hesitation. 

Frank doesn’t need to be told twice. The mouth of the tunnel approaches and then swallows them up, the bright daylight suddenly being replaced by unnatural yellow lights as the tunnel stretches endlessly on ahead of them.

“They’re not following,” Ray says, sounding worried.

“They’re not?!”

Frank risks looking back; all the Draculoids have stopped at the entrance.

“They’re not letting us get away, are they?!” Ray asks.

“There’s going to be something waiting up ahead,” Frank says grimly. He should be worried or scared but he’s feeling reckless and – worryingly – he’s actually enjoying this. 

Sure enough, there’s a blockade coming into view. The other end of the tunnel is in sight, bright sunlight a hope spot on the horizon but before that, there’s a barrier.

And a black car parked across the road. 

And several Draculoids, all of them pointing guns at Frank and Ray. 

Korse is standing in the middle of it all. Frank would expect him to be grinning but if anything, even at this distance, Frank can see he just looks bored. 

“This is suicide,” Frank says.

“Yeah, it is.” Ray gives Frank’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m sorry I got you killed,” Frank says. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

He sends a silent apology to Gerard for dying. He wonders how it’s going to work, if his body back in 2011 will just never wake up...

The blockade is getting closer and closer. The Dracs aren’t firing yet and Frank’s not sure what’s holding them back. They’re probably waiting for a signal or something -

The entire tunnel suddenly explodes. Frank’s bike skids, topples, completely out of control and both Frank and Ray are thrown off it, crashing painfully into the ground and rolling into each other. There’s pain and Frank feels something rip – and then he comes to a stop.

Darkness surrounds him. 

Is he dead? He can’t see or hear anything, maybe he’s unconscious. Unconscious would be nice. It’d be nice to sleep.

No wait, that’s not right. If he was unconscious in 2019, he’d be back in 2011 with Gerard. And he’s not, so...

His eyes open. 

There’s dust everywhere, dust so thick he can’t see any solid shapes, just lights and shadows. There’s a horrible high pitched ringing in his ears and Frank wonders if he’s gone deaf. 

And then, through the dust, there’s a particularly large dark shape moving towards him. He reaches for his gun – and then remembers he doesn’t have a gun, the gun belongs to Ray – fuck, Ray. Is he OK? The ground beneath his head shifts and he realises he’s actually lying partly on Ray, Ray who’s moving, trying to get back up –

A pair of hands grab Frank’s shoulders and pull him up. Frank yells (or he thinks he does, he can’t really hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears) and twists as pain floods through him, fearing he’s going to come face to face with either a Draculoid or Korse –

But instead, he finds himself staring at an abnormally short person wearing a sheep mask. Bizarrely, the tuft of wool at the top has been dyed neon pink and dark blue. Dimly, Frank hears them yelling something at him and gesturing at the motorbike behind them. Frank stares at it, his head feeling horribly fuzzy - 

And then his brain kicks in. Oh. They’ve got a motorbike.

“Can you hear me?!” the guy in the sheep mask is yelling.

Frank nods. 

“I’m Fall Out. Are you dead?”

Frank shakes his head.

“Good. Get on the bike.” 

Right. He climbs on behind Fall Out, quickly glancing behind to see that another masked guy who is as equally short and kinda podgy is helping Ray onto another bike. Frank grips tightly to Fall Out’s back as they start moving carefully between the wreckage and sprawled Draculoids. He tries to see if Korse is amongst the debris but then everything starts to move too quickly for him to process and before he knows it, they’re past the remains of the blockade and heading straight towards the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s so big and so bright, Frank can’t see through it, he can just see the brilliant white light which suddenly swallows them up and Frank’s screwing his eyes up and burying his face in Fall Out’s back because it’s so bright it _hurts_ , and it’s suddenly so hot, like they’ve gone straight into a sauna... or an oven... or...

Or the desert.

The Zones, Frank abruptly realises. Of course, Battery City’s air-conditioned, he just never realised how much! 

His head is swimming with the motion of the motorbike and even with his eyes shut tightly, he can still see bright red behind his eyelids. Clutching tightly to Fall Out’s sides, he tries his hardest not to throw up.

They drive for what feels like hours. Frank keeps his eyes shut for most of it – the sun’s too bright for him to see anyway and his head hurts less when he’s not trying to focus on the moving horizon. He can taste the dust in the air, drying out his mouth and there’s a strange smell in the air too, like gasoline and ... electricity? He tries not to think about breathing too much. The hot air rushing past isn’t any relief from the sun beating down on him and under his clothes, under his heavy coat, leather gloves and high-necked collar, sweat patches started forming pretty much the minute they got out the tunnel. He focuses on the solid things around him, how the bike is rumbling beneath him, how the hot leather jacket on Fall Out’s back feels against his face...

The bike stops.

Frank risks opening his eyes just a tiny crack. 

Thankfully, the sun’s not as high as it was earlier. They’ve come to rest outside a dilapidated shack covered with bright graffiti with a radio tower coming out the roof. Frank winces; his head’s already hurting too much for this added attack on the senses. Battery City was cool and dull, everything here is too bright and colourful. Even the sky looks different; it starts with a dusky yellow on the horizon that blends into lighter shades of blue and green that becomes a darker turquoise in the opposite direction. He stares at it for a few seconds, momentarily hypnotised by the vibrancy, how the colours blend seamlessly from one to the other... 

“How did they do that to the sky?” Frank asks out-loud stupidly. 

Fall Out laughs; Frank feels it vibrate through his body. “The colour? You’re not the first to notice that. Battery City’s got the whole bio-dome thing going; keeps the cool air in and the colour out. First time out the city?” 

Frank nods.

“Uh... you can let go of me now.”

“Oh shit, sorry.” Frank immediately pulls back; his muscles feel stiff and painful.

“I’ll probably have some wicked bruises tomorrow,” Fall Out says climbing off the bike. Standing up, he’s actually really short – probably only about the same height as Frank. His leather jacket has the sleeves pushed up which shows off the tattoos on his left arm. The design looks oddly familiar.

“Is that a Nightmare Before Christmas tattoo?!” Frank blurts out.

Fall Out pulls his mask up, bringing Frank out of his out his daze. He’s grinning at Frank but his face is completely unfamiliar. 

“Here, come on,” he says, holding his hand out. “System shock, happens to most people the first time they get out here.”

He helps Frank off the bike as Frank makes a mental check of his own body feeling pain spike through various parts with every movement. He didn’t think he’d injured himself too badly back in the tunnel but... nothing’s broken, at least. 

“You’ll want to get that checked out,” Fall Out says, gesturing to his face. 

Frank touches his cheek; it stings and when he pulls his hand back, there’s a dark shade of red smeared over the grey leather. The rest of his clothes haven’t faired much better either as every part of him is covered in dirt, grease, blood and dust. 

Fall Out suddenly frowns, looking at Frank’s arm. The X patch on Frank’s sleeve is tattered and an entirely new shade of dirt, but it’s still unmistakable. 

“Jet Star,” he calls out, suddenly sounding angry. “What’s the meaning of this??”

Ray and the guy who saved him are just pulling up in a rumble of dust and noise. Ray climbs off the bike. He’s grinning but Frank notices that he’s holding his wrist carefully.

“Meaning of what?” he asks. 

“This!” Fall Out gestures at Frank. “What, are we taking hostages now?!”

Ray laughs. “Relax, he’s one of us. He’s with Party Poison.” 

Fall Out looks at Frank doubtfully. 

“He seems a bit dosed.”

“System shock,” Ray says carelessly. “You alright, Frank?” 

Frank nods. His brain seems to be stuck. 

“Come on, let’s go inside, I’m roasting alive out here,” Ray says, heading towards the shack. He pushes a piece of graffiti on the wall aside with his good hand to reveal a hidden door. 

The inside of the shack is surprisingly homely, and it’s also darker and minutely cooler, which Frank’s thankful for. Frank gets a glimpse of a table at the far wall covered with dusty radio equipment before there’s a whirr of rollerskates and an incredibly pretty man with blue hair literally glides in front of Frank’s vision. 

“You got him!!” he says, sounding delighted, and without warning, throws his arms around Frank in a massive hug. “Welcome, welcome to the Zones!!”

He pulls back and looks Frank up and down critically. 

“Woah Jet, what the hell happened out there?”

“Minor clap,” Ray says, shrugging off his BLI work jacket which is in the same state of ruin as Frank’s. “Thankfully, Fall Out and M-M-R-S got a roadblock going with a few pig bombs. You should have seen it, it was awesome.”

“Any dusted?”

“Not sure, couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see Korse -” 

Frank listens to the conversation, feeling like he’s missing out on some kind of vital phrases or words. He looks at the pretty guy who’s still got his hands on his shoulders, his grip warm and firm.

It’s the tights and rollerskates that do it.

“You’re Show Pony!” Frank says in surprise.

The guy looks at Frank and grins. 

“You recognise me!! I knew you would!!” he says, sounding delighted, bouncing up and down in his skates. “Jet Star told me not to harass you in the bar but I knew you were good!! No one this cute could be evil!!” 

Frank’s never met anyone this hyper in either world. Not even Gerard after several coffees -

Frank’s eyes suddenly prickle and his vision goes blurry. 

“Come on, let’s go introduce you to the Doctor,” Show Pony says, grabbing Frank’s hands. “You guys staying?” he asks Fall Out. “We've got a can of chow specially for you!”

“I thought you were thanking us?!” Fall Out looks disgusted but then grins. 

There’s a bit more talking but Frank zones out of it mostly. His head feels strangely light and not connected, like none of this is real anymore. At some point, he’s aware of Fall Out and M-M-R-S leaving; Fall Out even says goodbye to Frank and tells him to take care of himself but Frank doesn’t get to reply as he’s distracted by Show Pony who insists on dragging him over to a random chair and administrating first aid. 

“You’ve made a mess of that pretty face,” he says, pouting and wiping the cuts with something that stings. He removes the worst of the glass with some tweezers and assures Frank he won’t need stitches, but Frank doesn’t dare ask for a mirror to see the damage. Show Pony is apparently the medic on wheels around here; as soon as he’s done with Frank, he turns to Ray and starts examining his wrist.

“OK, flex those fingers... yup, all good,” he says, smiling as he wraps a pink bandana around Ray’s wrist for a support. “Just a sprain. You’ll be putting that wrist to good use in no time!”

“Pony, behave,” comes an unfamiliar, deep voice. Frank looks to the door; a large man in a motorised wheelchair glides forwards. Show Pony smirks but says nothing, instead nodding towards Frank.

“You’re the Scarecrow? I’m Dr Death Defying.”

Ah, so this is the mysterious radio DJ... Unlike the other Killjoys Frank’s seen so far, Dr Death Defying less of an attack in Technicolor. He’s got long, scraggly dark hair held back with a bandanna tied around his head and is wearing dark clothes but there’s still something incredibly bold about the entire look. 

“I’m... Frank,” Frank says, holding out his hand. Damn, he really needs a cool nickname here. It’s a shame Fun Ghoul’s already taken, he quite liked that. 

Dr Death Defying shakes his hand; he’s got a firm grip and he meets Frank’s eyes and holds the gaze. Frank expects to be questioned about why he’s here and if he can be trusted but after a long, silent moment, the doctor simply nods.

“So, what are you going to do now you’re out here?” he asks.

“I- I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about what’s going on out here...”

Dr Death Defying nods again. “No one really does. However, there’s always things that need to be done and everyone’s got something to offer. Make yourself useful and look for things to do.”

Show Pony skates over to the desk by the wall and grabs something next to the American flag off the wall (Frank’s eyes widen as he realises there’s a giant spider painted in the middle of it), which he hands to Frank.

“This is a map of the Zones,” he explains. 

“You might know your way around the city but, as you might have guessed, things are a little different out here,” Dr Death Defying adds with a smirk. “Learn it, memorize it and never be without it until you do. You’re out in the desert without a car now, Scarecrow. Water ain’t in free supply here and the rain’s made of acid. You’ve made it this far, don’t get yourself killed over something this simple.”

The map looks simple enough. Six brightly coloured circles radiating out from the central point of Battery City with a few roads running through them... until Frank remembers that out in the desert, these things probably won’t be as easy to see. 

“If you prove your worth, you can stay here for as long as you want,” the doctor continues. There’s a strange air of calm authority and power coming from this man; unlike with Korse, Frank finds it reassuring. “But if I’ve heard correctly, you’ve already got a crew.” 

“What, Party Poison?!” Frank asks. He doesn’t mean to sound so horrified but it makes Dr Death Defying laughs loudly, like Frank’s said the funniest thing ever. He doesn’t answer though. 

“Pony?” he says instead, and with that, leaves the room with a whir of engines, leaving only Frank and Show Pony behind. Frank wonders where he got the wheelchair from. It looks like it was patched together out of pieces of old car engines.

“Hey, where’d Ray go??” Frank suddenly realises.

“Jet Star.” Show Pony corrects him gently. “He’s called Jet Star out here; you never know who’s listening. And he’s probably gone to find Kobra Kid and Party Poison.”

Frank’s stomach uncomfortably clenches. The room feels too hot. 

“So,” Frank says, trying to push the horrible thoughts from his head. “Is there anything I can do around here?” 

“Well, first things first,” Show Pony says, looking Frank up and down with a satisfied smirk. “We need to get you out those clothes.”

~*~*~

Show Pony insists that Frank needs to change entirely as “if anyone suspects you were SCARECROW, it’ll be shoot first, questions later.”

He initially offers Frank a pair of neon green tights, which Frank has to politely decline, but then finally comes up trumps with a pair of dark jeans and a bright mustard yellow t-shirt. The jeans are a bit too long in the leg and too tight around the waist, and the t-shirt has several stains scattered over it that Frank would rather not think about but after everything, it’s a relief to finally lose the leather gloves and long coat. 

Show Pony also pulls out a purple scarf that has stars over it, which he drapes around Frank’s neck delicately. Frank initially turns it down until Pony explains it’s not a fashion statement, but it’s a deathwish if you’re out in the Zones with nothing to protect your face.

“You’re in the desert now, Scarecrow,” Show Pony says, adjusting the scarf around Frank’s neck. “Dust storms and acid rain are all just part of the fun and trust me, you won’t like it if you get sand in those cheese-grater marks!” He rolls back and looks at Frank’s feet critically. “Hmm... we’ll need to get you some boots too. Those ones aren’t going to last much longer.”

Frank has to agree - the only shoes that he has are his smart ones from BLI which now look about a hundred years old. The toe on the left one has even been completely torn away, showing off Frank’s sock beneath it. 

“You need a gun too,” Show Pony says, suddenly strapping something heavy around Frank’s waist; he looks down and abruptly feels sick as he sees a white gun sticking out a holster now slung across his hips. He’s never even _held_ a gun before, let alone had to carry one and be expected to use it!!

When he’s done, he rolls back a second time and looks at Frank with a finger pressed to his chin thoughtfully.

“Proper little Killjoy,” he says. “Well, what do you think?” 

There’s a cracked mirror against one of the walls that Frank steals a glance in. He looks...

Frank’s not sure what he looks like. 

He tugs a hand through his dark hair, which is tangled and matted with dust and blood. There are several angry-looking red cuts surrounded by dried blood across his cheek but they’re actually not as bad as he’d thought. They still sting if he moves his face too much though. The purple scarf clashes horribly with the yellow t-shirt, the jeans are too long and the tattoos on his arms stand out vividly.

Frank hasn’t been this colourful for a long time, in either world. 

He looks a bit closer at his face.

“Christ, I’m nearly 40,” he says, horrified.

He’s so fucking _old._


	7. Chapter 7

Once Show Pony is satisfied that all traces of Better Living Industries have been firmly eradicated from Frank’s appearance, he finally gives Frank something to do; a cleaning task. Frank stares at the massive box of vinyl disks Show Pony points to in disbelief.

“Do the best you can, OK?” Show Pony says, turning to leave.

“You’re leaving me?!”

Pony looks amused. “I’m needed elsewhere and I don’t think you need supervision for this.”

“But – but I’m from Scarecrow! I could use the radio equipment to call BLI for help, or I could just sabotage the whole thing –”

“Are you going to?”

“Well no, but I _could_ –”

“Frank, Frank, Frank,” Show Pony says, calmly cutting through Frank’s babble. “You still don’t get it, do you? Everybody in the Zones has a past. We’re all running from something. No one cares out here what you were - it’s what you’re doing now that’s important.” He’s still smiling as he speaks but he sounds sad.

Frank wonders what Show Pony’s story is. 

“Jet Star will be back soon enough. Like I said, just do the best you can, OK?” he says, cheerful again, and then with a clatter of plastic wheels spinning, he’s gone. 

Frank glances at the radio desk by the wall. Even if he was planning on calling in Scarecrow, he wouldn’t know how to work the fucking thing anyway. With a shrug, he sits down on the floor crossed-legged and pulls the box of disks towards him. After a while, he’s got the disks sorted into four piles – Good, Fucked, Possibly Salvageable and What The Fuck REALLY?? The last one consists of only one disk; The Greatest Hits of Barry White. 

He’s so deeply involved in his task that he doesn’t hear the rumbling of the car outside until it’s far too close. Immediately, he’s on his feet, his hand automatically flying to the gun on his side even though he probably wouldn’t be any good with the thing if he tried but... what if it’s Korse?! What if they’ve tracked him down?!

He runs to the window but the graffiti completely obscures everything. He presses himself against the wall, back to the door, straining his ears to hear something. 

And then outside he hears Show Pony’s laughter. Then Ray’s voice. And then –

“Where is he??”

Gerard. It’s Gerard’s voice. 

Frank’s heart leaps in his chest – Gerard’s here! He’s safe! – and then it abruptly plummets as he realises what it _really_ means if Gerard’s outside. 

“No, I want to speak to him alone,” he hears Gerard say firmly. There’s footsteps, the door sliding back, more footsteps, closer now and then –

“Frank?”

He’s terrified to turn around. 

Please be Gerard... Please don’t be Gerard... 

“Frankie?”

He turns around. 

It’s Party Poison standing in the room, his hair a vivid red tangle and his face alarmed. For the first time Frank’s known him, he’s unmasked; there’s a flash of yellow dangling carelessly in his hand.

It’s Party Poison. 

It’s Gerard. 

Of course it fucking is. 

“Oh my God, what happened to your face?!” he asks. He’s moving towards Frank so quickly and his hand is lightly touching the fresh wounds on Frank’s cheek – it stings dully but he doesn’t feel himself react.

It’s Gerard. It’s fucking _Gerard._

“Gee – ” Frank chokes, and then gives up. He’s not consciously aware of throwing his arms around Gerard – Party Poison – and burying his face in the crook of his neck but then Gerard’s gently saying “shhh, it’s ok, you’re safe now” softly and stroking soothing circles on Frank’s back, kissing the side of his head...

Frank pulls back and looks at Gerard properly. His face is thinner, more defined, and there are more lines around his eyes and mouth. He’s a lot more tanned too and it just feels so wrong to see Gerard with any colour to his usual vampire pallor... but the look of concern he’s got right now is the same one he gives when he thinks Frank’s been working too hard or hasn’t had enough coffee.

“I really should have seen this coming,” Frank mutters. 

Gerard chuckles. “Yeah, Ray said you’re not from here.”

Frank shakes his head. “Really, really no... Gerard, what the fuck happened?”

So Gerard tells him. It’s a tale of war, fire and death, all starting one year from where Frank’s left off. The world ends with the war to end all wars. What few survivors were left grouped together to form a new civilisation but then _that_ started to self-destruct too, so Better Living Industries took over...

Frank was actually referring to what happened to Gerard but it’s nice to finally have some history properly explained. 

“But what about me and you?” Frank asks. “I mean, we were –”

He trails off as he sees Gerard’s confused look. “We were what?”

Oh fuck. 

He suddenly remembers the conversation him and Ray had not too long ago.

_“Party Poison can’t remember anything from before he was captured.”_

_“That’s it?”_

_“‘That’s it’?? Frank, think about every single memory you have; every happy childhood memory, the first guy you fell in love with, every single thing that shaped who you are today... and now imagine having that all taken away from you...”_

“You... you don’t remember, do you?” 

“Remember what?”

“Me and you – in 2011 – we were –”

“Who cares about 2011?!”

Kobra Kid suddenly bursts into the room, interrupting them and sounding pissed. Ray follows behind, looking sheepish. Like with Party Poison, Kobra Kid’s unmasked but it’s still a few seconds before Frank recognises him. 

“Mikey Way?!”

Mikey glares at him. If Gerard’s new appearance was a surprise, he hasn’t got anything on his brother. Mikey Way is virtually unrecognisable; the glasses and scenster-hair are gone and he’s blossomed from lanky to toned, finally growing into his features. Frank’s never seen him with such a look of utter hatred on his face though (although he’s never really seen Mikey Way with any kind of expression either). 

“The past’s in the past so leave it there,” he says coldly, folding his arms and glaring at Frank. “And now, thanks to you, we’ve got a whole new bunch of problems because if you don’t think that Scarecrow won’t be coming down hard on us for this -”

“Hold on, back the fuck up!” Frank says, stepping away from Gerard. “Why didn’t you tell him about –”

“It doesn’t matter!” Mikey interrupts. “Don’t push this one Iero, trust me, you _really_ don’t want to do this.”

“Mikey, maybe we should tell them,” Ray says quietly.

“Tell us what?!” Gerard sounds more annoyed than anything. “Mikey, were you keeping secrets from me??”

“It was for your own protection,” Mikey says shortly. “You don’t know what he did.”

“What?! What _I_ did?!” Frank’s struggling against the wave of hysteria that’s threatening to overcome him. Gerard doesn’t _know_ him. “I’m not the one who omitted an entire relationship from someone’s history!”

“Relationship?” Gerard grabs Frank’s arm, staring at him with wide eyes. He looks completely freaked. “Me and you? Were we –”

“Yes!!” Ray cuts in, shooting an apologetic look to Mikey. “Gerard, yes, OK, you and Frank were dating back in 2011 and yes, we both knew. We didn’t tell you because...”

He trails off, looking uncomfortably from the other three in the room, and suddenly, Frank has the mad urge to grab Gerard and bolt out the front door.

“Because Iero here betrayed us to Scarecrow,” Mikey says, sounding bored. Someone gasps. Frank’s not sure if it’s him or Gerard. 

Mikey meets Frank’s eyes and adds very coldly “I warned you, you wouldn’t want to hear this.”

“I would _never_ do that.” Frank’s surprised by how little his voice shakes.

Mikey shrugs and simply says “You did.”

But Gerard’s shaking his head too. “Mikey, he wouldn’t –”

“We don’t know for certain,” Ray says, trying to diffuse the situation slightly. “But the timing of everything was just a little too perfect.”

“What happened?” Frank asks, grasping at the single hope. He can’t have done _that_. Everything here is just that bit too fucked up but he’d never betray his friends. 

Ray lets out a slow exhale. “When we started to realise what BLI were doing with the pills, how they were using them to control the population, we knew we had to fight, or at least do _something_. Back then, you and Gerard were living together.” 

Ray glances at Frank and Gerard, as if expecting them to say something, but they’re both listening intently. Mikey wanders over to the corner of the room, his arms still folded and sulking.

“Well,” Ray continues, “Gerard wanted to take a stand but you –” He nods to Frank “- wanted to stay in the city.”

Mikey mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking coward.” Frank ignores him.

“There was already an underground movement back then. Mostly, it was harmless, like graffiti and stuff.” Ray’s mouth twitches as Gerard snorts, then he turns to Frank. “You didn’t want anything to do with it, but you agreed to pretend not to know anything when we were there.”

He stops, glancing at Mikey, who rolls his eyes.

“BLI raided the group one night,” Ray says, licking his lips nervously. “It was the biggest bust of the time. Me and Mikey got out. Gerard didn’t.”

“And then the next day, we find out you’ve been promoted,” Mikey suddenly says.

“Bullshit!” snaps Frank. 

Mikey only shrugs. “Bit too much of a coincidence, if you ask me.”

“There is no fucking way I would have done _that_ ,” Frank growls.

“Guilty conscience, much?” Mikey sneers.

“Fuck you! It hasn’t even happened yet!”

“For you, maybe. For us though, it has. You just can’t remember it.”

“Listen, asshole, I –”

“Back off!!” Gerard suddenly yells. He steps forward, his eyes blazing with anger and for a second, Frank thinks he’s talking to him... but then he stares straight at Mikey. “Mikey – you – you never told me it was _FRANK_ who – you always told me it was ‘just a friend’ and – and you said they were dead!! How could you let me – after everything you – you knew how I felt – and you just _let me???”_

Frank’s mouth drops. “You lied to him?! I mean, I get the not telling him about us but you actually fucking _lied_?” 

“It was for his own good.” Mikey’s arms are still folded defensively across his chest. “He would have gone looking for you otherwise. _‘Mikey, Frank’s on our side, he’s just scared!! Give him a chance, he’ll come though!_ ’” 

Gerard looks completely murderous. For a few seconds, it’s easy to see just how dangerous he could be as Party Poison. 

“I- I can’t deal with you right now,” he says, throwing his arms up in the air. “So – “ 

But instead of finishing, he turns around and storms out the shack. 

There’s a tense silence. Dust mites lazily float through a beam on sunlight. Frank’s arms swing by his side, Ray fidgets with the edge of his gun and stares at the ground, but Mikey continues to glare at Frank. 

“Fuck it,” Frank mutters and heads for the exit too. 

“Where are you going?” Mikey says, far too aggressively. 

“I’m going after him.” The ‘duh’ goes unsaid. 

Mikey growls. “I don’t want you anywhere near my brother.” 

“You don’t get a say in this.” He pauses. “Dick.” 

*~*~

Gerard’s sitting outside on the bonnet of his car, smoking a cigarette, staring blankly off into the distance. Frank screws his eyes up against the glare of the setting sun.

“Hey,” Gerard says softly. 

“Hey,” Frank replies. “Can I sit next to you?”

Gerard shrugs. “Free country.”

Frank’s barely settled against the bonnet of the car when Gerard suddenly grabs him, his hand shooting around the back of Frank’s head and pulling him in and kisses him aggressively. Frank grips the front of Gerard’s t-shirt, closing his eyes and tasting the desert and cigarettes on his tongue. He kisses him with everything he’s got, trying to spark some recognition...

Frank keeps his eyes closed when they pull apart as Gerard rests his own forehead against Frank’s. Frank can feel his hot breath on his lips. 

“I wish I could remember you properly,” Gerard says, sounding so sad. 

Frank doesn’t say anything.

“Mikey seems so sure you betrayed us –”

“I didn’t,” Frank’s eyes snap open and he sits back, staring earnestly into Gerard’s eyes, trying to make him believe him. “I’m a coward, I’ll be the first to admit that happily, but I would never betray you like that.”

“You worked for Scarecrow though,” Gerard says sadly. “You can’t have worked that far without killing anyone or at least turning Zone Runners over to BLI. You killed Fun Ghoul, remember? And that’s just in the last few weeks. Mikey was right. Just because it hasn’t happened to you yet, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened at all.”

Back home, Gerard would believe him in an instant. 

Frank stares at his feet instead, sticking over the edge of the car. 

“This fucking sucks,” he says.

Gerard snorts. “Tell me about it.” 

“Oh sure, I’m sure you can relate,” Frank says bitterly. “Because _you’ve_ got to go back home to the one person who’s suddenly made your life so fucking perfect and now know that it’s not going to last.” 

“No, but I’ve got to watch one person who’s suddenly made _my_ life make more sense be hurt by _me_ because I can’t fucking remember – fuck!” Gerard stops. “Forget I said that.” 

Hope tightens Frank’s chest. He looks at Gerard but Gerard’s determinedly staring directly ahead into the distance. 

“Gee?” he asks. 

“It’s Party Poison,” he corrects. He’s trying to sound tough but even to Frank, it’s not working. “I don’t – you shouldn’t call me that.” 

“You call me Frankie. Look, I get that you’re trying to protect yourself -”

“And you, motherfucker! And everyone else here!!”

“Will you stop attacking me?” Frank snaps, his patience wearing thin. “Fucking hell, it’s like the worst parts of your personality got amplified or something!” 

Gerard snorts. “This is who I am, Frank,” he says, looking at Frank coldly. “And maybe it doesn’t quite live up to whatever I was back in 2011 but –”

“Oh, no way, this is _exactly_ what you’re like back there too - you’re still using aggression and overconfidence to hide when you’re nervous or scared!” 

Whatever retort Gerard was going to use dies on the way to his mouth. A mixture of surprise and hurt flash across his face making him look more vulnerable that Frank’s ever seen, but then it’s quickly gone and Gerard turns away, staring back out into the distance and taking a long drag on his cigarette. Frank doesn’t look away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Frank says softly. He hates using such a low blow, but it had to be done. “But you’re acting like losing all your memories meant you changed entirely as a person.”

“It _did_ , Frank,” Gerard says, sounding anguished. “Mikey’s been telling me enough times lately that I’m not the same as I was.”

“What, is that after you met me here?” Frank snorts. He means it as a joke but the expression on Gerard’s face confirms it. “Son of a bitch, I’m going to kill him –”

He’s starts to pull himself off the car, ready to go back towards the shack and fucking punch Mikey-fucking-Way in his fucking face or something because, _seriously_ , what the actual fuck?!

Gerard grabs his arm, freezing him immediately. 

“Frank, what – what was I like?” he asks. “Me back then, I mean. What was he like?”

Just like that, all the anger evaporates from Frank. He’s already unconsciously shifting back closer to Gerard. 

“He was –” Frank catches himself and changes the tense. Gerard’s not dead. “Is. He’s awesome. He’s just got his first big break as a graphic artist –”

“The Black Parade?” Gerard interrupts, looking curious. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Gerard bites his lip and looks at his boots, the same excited smile gracing his features that Frank knows so well. 

“Echoes,” he says, waving his hand around his head loosely. “I sometimes get... vague things. Emotions, names, faces, ideas. Never much but... sometimes. And when you mentioned it back at the club...”

He stops and it’s like watching a metal shutter suddenly clang down.

“I don’t want to remember,” he says in a blank voice. “Whatever we had, it can’t have been that special if I couldn’t even remember your face.”

Frank’s never been one for dramatics but when he felt his heart break, he always thought it would be louder. Instead, the only noise is the sound of his breath catching in his throat and distantly, there’s a faint rumbling noise. 

“You remembered Mikey?” he asks. 

“Not immediately,” Gerard admits, “But eventually –”

“So when you first saw me – when you first picked me up, when I first climbed into your car, when you saved me from those Draculoids – can you honestly tell me that you never got some kind of recollection??” Frank demands. 

Gerard’s silent for a bit. “I... I was intrigued by you, that’s all.”

“Sure, whatever,” Frank says, not believing a word of it. “You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you. When you decide to stop being a dickhead and shutting me out, let me know, OK? You’ve been through hell and I’m so unbelievably fucking sorry about that – Jesus Christ Gee, you have no idea how much I hate what’s happened to you – both what BLI did to you and what kind of fucking monster they created but I'm not giving up on you just because you think that being a total asshole is going to get rid of me that easily and - and _what the fuck is that noise??!!_ ”

The ringing in his ears had gotten louder as he’d been speaking, becoming more punctuated. 

“What noise?” Gerard asks, looking around in confusion. 

“That – that buzzing!!” Frank says, rubbing his ears but the noise only gets louder. “It sounds like – it sounds like –”

His head feels too heavy. 

“Frank??” 

Gerard grabs his arms, shaking him slightly. He’s going blurry, the sun is setting too quickly... the car feels so soft...

“Frank! Frankie! Wake up!!”

Frank blinks. 

“Gee?” he asks blearily.

There’s the sound of a thud as Gerard slams his hand down on the alarm clock, silencing it. The pillow under Frank’s head and the sheets around him are warm against his naked skin as he lies on his side, and then Gerard snakes an arm around Frank’s waist from behind, pressing up against him. Automatically, Frank rests his own arm over Gerard’s, linking their fingers together.

“Morning,” he says sleepily, nuzzling into Frank’s hair. 

Frank’s eyes shoot wide open. 

“Gerard?” Frank asks again.

“Who else, silly?” Gerard replies, giving Frank a squeeze. “What time do you have to be in at work?”

“9.”

“Ahh good.” Gerard stifles a yawn, tangling his leg between Frank’s own.

Frank looks down at the hand beneath his own. It’s pale and covered in ink splotches with none of the roughness that Party Poison’s had. He can’t take it anymore; he turns over and faces Gerard –

And it’s _his_ Gerard. Gerard with his long, greasy, tangled black hair, with his round face and massive bags under his hazel eyes and his stupidly pale skin.

Frank kisses him, his hand cupping Gerard’s cheek. His breath is disgusting but he doesn’t care, he’s so unbelievably relieved. Gerard kisses him back, lazily, sleepily and he blinks a few times when Frank realises he’s forgetting to breathe in all of this. 

“I could get used to that,” Gerard says lazily with a smile. 

“Gee, you’d remember me, right?” Frank asks. “Like, if you got amnesia or something, if you knew you’d forgotten me, you’d try to remember me, right??”

“I – huh, what? Frank, it’s a bit early for that kind of thinking, I haven’t even had a coffee yet!” 

“I’m serious; if you forgot me, would you want to remember me?” 

There’s something in Frank’s tone that makes Gerard sit up in bed. The sheet slips to his waist as he props himself up with his arms revealing his soft, pale belly. 

“Are you OK, Frankie?” 

“I – I had a really fucked up dream...”

Gerard nods, blinking sleepily. “You were mumbling in your sleep a lot; something about running from a scarecrow. I tried to wake you up but you were pretty much out for the count.” 

He reaches out and strokes Frank’s hair, letting his hand stop on Frank’s cheek. The ghost of future wounds cries out at the touch.

“Of course I’d want to remember you, you dope,” he says with a reassuring smile. 

“But what if you forgot everything?” Frank presses. “Like, not just me but everything about who you were, your past... even Mikey. Would you be happier like that?”

Gerard frowns slightly as he thinks it over. 

“There’s no way for me to get my memories back?” he asks.

Frank shakes his head. 

“Well... I guess if I couldn’t remember it, I wouldn’t know what I’ve lost.” 

That’s exactly what Party Poison said. Frank feels his stomach plummet.

“But... I dunno. If I forgot you but then found you again and I _knew_ I’d forgotten you... same with Mikey, actually... I wouldn’t be happy. Yeah, actually, that’d be worse...” He looks at Frank worriedly. “You don’t always ask these kinds of questions every single morning, do you? Coz if you’re staying over more often, we’re gonna have to have a chat.”

Frank laughs. “No no, I swear, I’m normally pretty inarticulate. I just... weird dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Nah.”

~*~*~

Breakfast at Chez Way is a fucking strange experience. For one thing, Mikey Way seems to vaguely like him here.

“So what time you get in last night?” Gerard asks as they sit around the kitchen table. Mikey had staggered into the kitchen, wincing and clutching his head and didn’t say a word to either Frank or Gerard until he’d downed a whole cup of black coffee from the machine.

“Late. Or early. Not sure,” Mikey groans, not lifting his head off the table. “I’m too old for Thursday night gigs. You guys have fun after you left? And I mean that in a purely polite question way. I do not want to know.” 

He doesn’t say anything else and when Gerard mentions that he probably needs to go to work, Mikey responds by flipping them off, painfully pushing himself to his feet and staggering out the kitchen.

In comparison to Kobra Kid, that’s about the same as Mikey forging BFF bracelets and demanding Frank never ever takes his off.

Determination twists in Frank’s gut. He doesn’t care what Kobra Kid says. There is no way in hell he would have betrayed Gerard. Heck, he wouldn’t have even betrayed Mikey, no matter how much of a douchebag he is. And even if he _did_ (which he didn’t), there’s no way on earth Frank could go through the entire horror again and purposefully make the choice to turn Gerard in, not now that he knows what he’d become...

A jolt of excitement runs through him. He could _change_ it. He could save Gerard. Fuck, he could even save the world. He could warn people about the Helium Wars. He could tell people not to trust Better Living Industries. And if all that failed, he could join the rebellion with Gerard...

Gerard is absently doodling in his sketchbook, his bare feet curled up underneath him as he sits on the chair, a cup of coffee steaming next to him. Without even looking up from his sketchbook, he reaches out his free hand and links his pinky finger with Frank’s, giving it a squeeze, as if he just wants to have some kind of physical contact with Frank at all times.

Frank smiles. Yeah. He’s going to fucking save him.

~*~*~

When you’ve just quit your job in an incredibly overdramatic manner that involved a high-speed motorbike chase, gunfire and explosions, it can be a little bit of a comedown to be back in the office. As Frank sits in his tiny cubicle ignoring the sound of gossip behind him, he sighs heavily and continues to do the same menial task he’s always been doing.

Something’s got to give. He can’t keep this up anymore, not without going insane from sheer monotony alone, especially now he’s had a glimpse of what lies in the future. Maybe he should look into getting a new job...

“Iero, have you seen Bryar today?”

His boss’s voice interrupts his thoughts and Frank looks over at Bob’s cubical; he hadn’t even realised it was empty. 

“N-no,” Frank stammers. 

“Huh. He hasn’t been in all week,” his boss mutters. 

Frank feels sick. How did he not notice Bob’s absence? He immediately sends Bob a text and, in typical Bob form, he replies with a blunt “been ill.” Bob seems absolutely fine with how Frank’s only just enquiring into his absence now but Frank feels like a complete and utter dick; Bob’s the only friend he has in this place and he’s been so fucking self-absorbed that he didn’t even realise he wasn’t in. 

Just to really ruin Frank’s day, when he gets back from lunch, a card with “CONGRATULATIONS” written across the front in glitter lands on his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s for Carol,” one of the girls in his department him says. “She got the promotion! Quick, sign it before she gets back!” 

Frank stares at the card until the well-wishing messages go blurry. He quickly signs his name and tries not to let his handwriting look too bitter.

Carol’s not even been working here that long. Frank’s been here a good two years longer than her. How the fuck did that –

He’s aware of handing the card back to the girl. He’s aware of returning to his desk, turning off his computer and collecting together his things in his bag. 

“Going somewhere?” his boss calls out as Frank passes his office. 

“I don’t feel well,” Frank says through gritted teeth. “I’m going home.”

His boss frowns. “Can’t you work through it?”

“No.”

“OK... but I’m logging this and you’ll just need to make up for the hours next week. The usual drill.”

Frank nods. 

“And I hope you’re feeling better soon. You’ve been a bit distracted lately.” 

He wishes his boss was more of an asshole. He wishes he’d just fire him on the spot. He wishes he meant more to the company than just a nameless office worker. Not useless enough to be completely disposable but not important enough to merit being forced to stay in. 

He’s home in record time. Immediately, he heads for the kitchen, setting the coffee maker up and then he grabs all his notes and drawings he’s been making of Battery City. He chucks them in a messy pile on the kitchen floor and starts shifting through them frantically. 

He eventually finds what he’s looking for; Party Poison’s info sheet. The cartoon Gerard drew is stapled to the back. The more he stares at it, the more he sees random details he didn’t notice before. Gerard had drawn in the beads around Party Poison’s wrist, labelled “Bad Luck Beads” in his scribbled handwriting. He’d even put some of the designs on each individual bead; they’re mostly Japanese symbols for bad luck, such as 13, black cat and broken mirror. 

_Bad luck can’t find you if you already know where it is_ is written next to it. 

“Jesus,” Frank mutters. “You must have remembered some of this.” 

He grabs a pen and starts to fill in the blanks. 

“Name: Gerard Arthur Way. Date of birth: April 9th, 1977,” he says as he writes. “Age... fuck me, you’re 42.”

Once he’s done with Party Poison’s sheet, he finds Kobra Kid’s and amends it to the best of his abilities. He starts shifting through the rest of the notes, looking for some kind of clue, sorting them into piles. There’s a section of the kitchen floor for the Zones, for the people in it, then another section for Better Living Industries, then another for Battery City with the incredibly detailed maps he’d drawn from memory. 

At some point, the sunlight dies. At some point, he replaces the copious amounts of coffee with copious amounts of whiskey. At some point, his phone buzzes.

“Hello?” he slurs. 

“Frank!! Hey, it’s Gerard!”

“Gee? What are – why are you –”

“I – uh – are you OK?”

Frank pauses, looking at the piles all around him with his handwriting scrawled over them. The words swim and leap out at him.

“I’ve... I may have had a few to drink,” he admits.

“How drunk are you?” Gerard sounds amused.

“Not sure yet.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t drink, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Why?” 

“Whole history of alcoholism and depression mostly.” Gerard’s voice is light but he says it just that little bit too casually. 

“Wow... you must think I’m a real prick now,” Frank mumbles. 

“Not at all, Frankie! I don’t drink coz it’s bad for me, but my friends can still do it!”

“Do you want to come over?”

Gerard pauses. “Can I take a rain check on that one?”

Fuck. Frank presses his knuckles to his head.

“Will you see me when I’m sober?” 

Gerard laughs. “I’ll come round tomorrow, I promise.” 

“Thanks... I swear, I won’t fuck this up.”

Gerard laughs again. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you?”

“Not funny enough to be remembered,” Frank mutters, holding the phone away from his head.

Pause. 

“What are you doing right now anyway? Are you out or something?”

“No... I’m... I’m in my flat. Alone. Drinking. Fuck. That’s a bad sign.”

Gerard bursts out laughing. “Oh Frankie... what happened? Bad day?”

“A little. Didn’t get the promotion.”

“What?!” Gerard sounds outraged. “But – how!? What’s wrong with your boss?! How could they just disregard you like that?!” 

Frank closes his eyes and listens to Gerard continue to rant angrily, letting his words wash over him. It’s soothing.

“And – and, Frank are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here... back in good ol’ 2011.” 

“Oh Frankie,” Gerard says, sounding sad. “How much have you had?”

“Not much... I think.”

He looks at the bottle of whiskey. It was full earlier and now there’s probably only one shot left.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck. I am going to be SO ill tomorrow.”

“Do – do you want me to come over? Like, now, I mean. Coz I can...”

Frank looks at the pile of notes on the floor. He wants to see Gerard more than anything else right now. 

“Nah, it’s ok,” Frank says. “I’m sleepy, I’ll probably pass out in a bit. But... if you could come round tomorrow -”

“I’ll bring coffee,” Gerard says warmly. “Anything else?”

“No... just please... please come round?”

Frank’s almost ashamed at how desperate he sounds. 

“OK, OK I’ll be there... Get an early night, you lunatic. I’ll be round in the afternoon to nurse you back to better health.”

~*~*~

He’s not sure when he passes out on the floor amidst scribbles of _WHAT SET OFF THE HELIUM WARS??_ and _there might be something outside the window - how the fuck is Party getting in??_ and _who is Fun Ghoul??_ All he knows is that at some point, the lino suddenly feels a lot softer and the air becomes much hotter and heavier.

He opens his eyes a crack. He’s lying on a discarded mattress on the floor of what looks like another dilapidated shack. Sunlight streams in through cracks in blinds, lighting up the room pretty well. The walls are covered with posters and colourful spraypaint and doodles that could only be the work of Party Poison, and there’s even some mannequins in the corner that have been painted bright colours with numbers on their chests. Frank gulps as he realises they’re also covered in burn marks. 

He sits up and a ragged blanket falls off his shoulders. There’s no one else around. 

Something’s digging uncomfortably into his hip. After a moment’s fumbling, he realises it’s the gun and holster Show Pony gave him yesterday. 

He clears his throat nervously. His mouth is dry as fuck and his head is swimming slightly.

“Fuck, it’s the 8-year-late hangover,” he mutters as his stomach swoops and he feels a rush of nausea. He curls back up on the mattress, pulls the threadbare blanket over his head and tries to get back to sleep. 

It doesn’t work. He needs coffee, or at least water. And a cigarette. And food might be an idea too. And for all those things (if they’re even fucking available here), he’s going to have to get up and find out where the fuck he is. 

“Fuck me...” he groans. 

He sits up slowly again, inch by inch, letting his body adjust to being vertical. It’s then that he notices that whoever put him here removed his shoes and left a pair of incredibly battered DM’s by the end of the mattress. He assumes they’re for him. They’re his size. 

With the new shoes on, he slowly gets to his feet, feeling incredibly dizzy. The room is apparently an abandoned diner, as there’s booths lining the wall and there’s a door at the far end which was probably the kitchen. 

There might be someone in there. 

Frank’s doing his very best impression of a zombie-walk when he stops dead in the middle of the room. 

Mikey Way is asleep in one of the booths. 

He’s stretched out along the chair and propped up against the wall, his arms wrapped loosely around his skinny body. He’s still wearing his usual Kobra Kid attire, right down to the colour-coded striped boots which are sticking out into the isle. He’s snoring lightly and he suddenly looks so much younger without the usual glare on his face.

With a shrug, Frank continues into the kitchen. Ray’s already in there, drinking coffee out a chipped mug.

“Hey, you’re up!” Ray says. Frank forces a smile and sits down on the nearest chair, resting his head on a table covered with computer parts. “You ok?”

“Whiskey. Bad. Hurts.” 

Another chair scrapes across the floor as Ray sits down next to him.

“You get hangovers transferred over? Sucks to be you!” He sounds far too cheerful. Bastard. “Good night out?”

“Not really. Trying to make any sense of all this. Didn’t work. Got drunk. Gee now hates me. Unofficially quit my job.”

“You didn’t know he was a recovering alcoholic??”

“Not until he mentioned it.”

“Shit... so _that’s_ where you’re from.”

Frank opens his eyes and raises his head a fraction, looking at Ray with one eyebrow raised. He’s half hoping Ray will come out with some magic wisdom from the past, like a “Oh, I remember this! Don’t worry, he’s not at all angry at you being an insensitive douchebag and yes, you find a new job immediately, and it’s super awesome!!” 

Instead, Ray pushes his cup towards Frank and says “Well, drink up – we’ve got a fair amount of things we need to be getting on with today.”

“Where’s Gee?” 

“Party Poison. And he’s out. He had to hit the market – something about now having two extra mouths to feed around here.”

“Oh... So what are we doing?” He can smell very weak coffee in the air. 

“Well, for one thing, once Kobra wakes up, we’ve got to figure out a way to get you back home and staying there.”

~*~*~

Frank already knows Mikey Way is not a morning person. It turns out thought that he’s actually more just not a “waking up” person, considering they’re in a world where people measure time mainly by the sun. When Mikey stumbles into the kitchen, he grunts at Ray and flips Frank off as a morning greeting.

“Give him about half an hour,” Ray says. 

“I have an idea about how to fix you, but I’m not telling you jack until Poison gets back,” Mikey snaps later. “I’m not going over this more than I need to.”

At a complete and utter loss of what to do, Frank goes outside, remembering to swipe a random pair of sunglasses off the side. The atmosphere inside the diner is stifling anyway. As he leaves, he distinctly hears Ray say “Go easy on him, OK??”

Outside isn’t much better. It’s unbearably hot and only marginally better in the shade with vast stretches of wasteland as far as the eye can see, but it’s still an improvement on inside. He wanders around the exterior of the diner a few times before slumping down against a wall, dust flying up all around. 

“Fuck me, this sucks,” he mutters. “It’s like one fucking extreme to the other.”

Idly picking at a loose thread on the edge of his pants, he wonders if this is what the Killjoys do all day when they’re not drawing over billboards and blowing shit up. On paper, the whole thing seemed so glamorous but the reality seems to involve a lot more long periods of nothing and waiting around. 

He decides to pester Ray, who’s sitting inside at one of the booths with a frown on his face. There’s a tangle of wires and equipment on the table. 

Unfortunately for Frank Kobra Kid’s sitting next to him. 

“What you doing?” Frank asks, sliding in opposite him.

“Trying to create a detonator,” Ray replies, not taking his eyes off the two wires in his hands. 

“Is that a bomb?” 

“You got a problem with that?” Mikey asks aggressively.

Weakly, Frank says “No no, guess not...”

“It’s nothing too serious.” Ray finally looks up and smiles reassuringly at Frank. “We’ve got a food run for one of the camps coming up and we need a big distraction –”

“And security around Battery City is going to be twice as manic now, thanks to your stunt yesterday,” Mikey interjects.

“Oh,” is all Frank can say. He’s burning to say something else – he’s got a whole bunch of insults that he’s just itching to use – but for the sake of global peace and unity and harmony (particularly towards the guy who’s house he’s crashing in right now), he stays quiet.

“It’s a pretty simple plan,” Ray continues, as if Mikey never spoke. “There’s a BLI function-party that evening, so we get into the city, plant this outside the building of the party and when it goes off, while everyone’s running around, we run in and nab the supplies.” 

Frank looks at the plans on the table which show a map of Battery City with a giant X marked outside one of the buildings.

“Surely it makes more sense to make up a bunch of little ones and spread them around along one wall than one massive one hidden a few feet away?” Frank asks, gesturing on the map. “Like, if you planted one here and here, and then had them set to timers so that they went off in a sequence, it’d spread out the damage and really keep everyone distracted.”

Mikey stares at the bomb for a second, the expression on his face akin to as if he’d just been forced to eat a whole tin of Dog Chow. 

“Fuck,” he spits, which Frank takes as confirmation that he’s just had a really good idea.

Ray’s grinning. “Nice! Fun Ghoul used to be our go-to guy about explosives – really knew his shit.”

Curiosity building, Frank leans forward a bit, trying not to knock any of the homemade bomb parts. “How did you guys know him anyway? Gera- Party said you’d never actually met him.”

“We met him once, me and Mikey. Very briefly though – the rest of the time it was through contacts mostly,” Ray nods. “He had this guy – Briar Rabbit - and he’d be the one who you had to go to to get a hold of him and then he’d communicate for him.” He sighs. “No one knew their way around the city like Fun Ghoul did. The one time we met him, it was when we needed a wall blown off a supply hold.”

“He blew up a supply hold?!”

“No no, he just blew a hole in the wall. Got the timing and placement exactly right, none of the stuff inside even got a scratch on it.”

Frank lets out a low whistle. “But you actually met him? Like, spoke to him and everything?” 

“Not really,” Mikey says. “We ran into some Dracs as we were getting the stuff out and they outnumbered us. Just as we’re about to get ghosted, there’s another explosion, we’re thrown to the ground and there’s Draculoids flying all over the place.”

“He’d chucked at grenade at them,” Ray grins. “Anyway, he came running up to us, yelled ‘I’m Fun Ghoul, move motherfuckers!!’, helped us up and got the rest of the boxes into the back of the van. Seriously short guy, no wonder he could get around the city so easily.”

“Didn’t say another fucking word and then just took off once we’d got the last box,” Mikey grumbled. “Never even took his mask off.” 

“The Frankenstein one?” Frank asks, remembering the description in the file.

“Yeah the Franken –“ Ray suddenly stops, staring at Frank. “Huh.” 

“What?” Mikey and Frank both say in unison. 

“Never mind,” Ray waves his hand in a ‘forget about it’ motion.

~*~*~

By the time Party Poison gets back, the bomb’s almost finished. Once Mikey grudgingly admitted that they could do with an extra pair of hands, Frank jumped to the task, eager to have something to do (and a distraction from his hangover). When Gerard strolls into the diner carrying a large, battered box, he looks incredibly surprised to see Frank and Mikey sitting in close proximity to each other and acting civil.

“I got dinner,” he says, rattling the box. “Get your dog chow while it’s disgusting! Grabbed some more coffee too, we’re running low. How’s the bomb going?”

Mikey nods. “It’s going.”

“Turns out our boy Scarecrow is quite the natural with explosives,” Ray says with a grin. “Lucky us, eh?”

The smile Gerard gives Frank is almost blinding. 

“Yeah, lucky,” Mikey snorts. “We wouldn’t have needed a new detonator guy if Iero here hadn’t ghosted the last one.”

Frank feels his stomach twist uncomfortably and he looks down at his hands, focusing on the familiar tattoos. The ink’s a little greener and not as sharp in places, particularly on the older ones. He makes a mental note to get a proper look at the rest of his tattoos when he gets a minute to see how they’ve fared here.

“Kobra...” Ray says warningly.

“Just drop it, OK?” Gerard adds. “We all make mistakes.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“So what else did you get?” Mikey asks tensely.

“Supplies mostly. Traded in some stuff... May have been pimping out your skills a bit too,” Gerard says with a nod at Frank.

“Me?! What can I do?!” 

“Dr D wants to speak to you at some point. You were on surveillance, right? So you must know where the cameras out here are located.”

Frank nods. He remembers what Show Pony said - _No one cares out here what you were. It’s what you’re doing now that’s important._

A clean slate. Perhaps... 

He catches Gerard’s eye. Gerard immediately looks down. 

“Well anyway, now that you’re back, we can get down to business,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes. 

“Business?” Gerard asks.

“Getting Frank settled back in his own time,” Ray explains.

“You can do that?” Frank’s jaw drops.

“Possibly,” Mikey says as Gerard slides into the seat next to Frank. “From what we know, here’s what we’ve got - Initially, we thought the idea behind Project Two-Zero-One-One was that it was supposed to be about time-travel and the like... but actually, it’s impossible to jump a physical object from one point in time to another. The best BLI could come up with was to isolate the “jump” in the non-physical conscious of a host. In this case, it’s Iero.”

Frank’s head already hurts trying to get his brain around this.

“So I’m not actually travelling through time?” he asks.

“No, you’re travelling all right,” Mikey says, looking sour. “But it’s only your mind that’s travelling, not your body. Your consciousness can only exist within your own head. There’s the Frank’s head here in 2019 and the one in 2011 as the two... let’s call them portals. The minute your body and brain shuts down for sleep, the portal at the other end opens so your consciousness instantly goes back to it. Because Korse didn’t think it worked the last time you tried it, he probably didn’t bother trying to close the portals down.”

“But why didn’t the Frank from this time end up going back, instead of bringing the Frank from the past forward?” Ray asks. Frank’s relieved to see that he’s not the only one in the room who’s getting confused by all this.

“Well, there’s a whole bunch of possibilities... misaligned wire, error in the input, the coordinates were incorrect...” Mikey counts each one off on his fingers.

“In layman’s terms, they probably fucked up,” Gerard says flatly.

“Fucking hell...” Frank presses his hands to the sides of his head, half expecting to find a giant hole there. His fingers tangle in his greasy hair. “So, where’s the me from here? There’s two consciousness...ess...sees... things. What happened to him?”

_You know, the one who actually knows what the fuck is going on here,_ he mentally adds.

There’s an uncomfortable silence.

“He’s not, like, _gone_ , is he?!” Frank asks, his eyes widening.

“I don’t know,” Mikey says. “Would serve him righ-”

“Mikey!! He could just be in the other part of the portal.” Gerard glares at his brother. “Like, Frank... you’re always awake and when you fall asleep here, you wake up back in 2011... so, maybe he’s just inhabiting the sleeping part of that. He could be having some wonderful dreams and not having a care in the world right now!”

Lucky fucker. 

“Hold on, I don’t get this,” Frank says, screwing up his eyes. “OK, so BLI find a way to pull someone’s fucking mind out of its current spot in time and space and shove it elsewhere – bit of a fucking wooly concept but I’ll go with it... but... _why_? It’s completely useless! If this – 2019 – is the starting point, then you can’t change the past because that then fucks with the reason why they travelled to the past in the first place. It’s the whole cause-and-effect thing – they wouldn’t be able to do a fucking thing!” 

He suddenly feels cold. If that’s the case can’t change anything. He can’t save Gerard. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and continues. “And it’s a purely mental travel so you can’t even do anything useful like go back in time and bring forward a whole bunch of something useful like fresh vegetables or cigarettes... so why create the fucking technology in the first place??” 

There’s a silence. Frank can see that he’s made a very valid point.

“We don’t know,” Gerard says eventually. 

“Yeah, it could just be like the Hadron Collider.” Ray shrugs. “If you can do something in the name of science, you might as well do it.”

Frank buries his face in his arms. “The world’s gone mad, it’s official. I’ve found the future and it’s run by utter fucking lunatics.”

Everyone else laughs. Gerard gently pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah... you’ll get used to that eventually.”

Frank shifts his head and offers Gerard a tiny smile before pushing himself up.

“So... how do we get me back home?” he asks.

“Well, in theory, all we have to do is get you back in the machine, make sure we’ve got the right conscious in the right place and then close the portals,” Mikey says. “We’ve been able to get hold of some of the files on it and it seems fairly straightforward to operate but –”

“The machine in question is in BLI,” Frank finishes. “Fuck. I should have just let Korse put me through it a second time.”

“Actually, it’s probably for the best you didn’t.”

Frank stares at Mikey. “Why am I suddenly so scared to ask why?” 

“The whole portal thing is already ridiculously unstable,” Ray says quickly, speaking before Mikey has a chance. “We’ve seen the test results – for everyone else, the amount of power and energy that it required was too much. They got completely fried, literally. Forcing another portal to open – especially when there’s one already open – probably would have caused it to implode on itself.”

Mikey’s attempting to hide a smirk behind his hand; he probably wishes Frank had gone through with it.

“I probably also should mention that there’s also a risk that if we do get you in the machine and it goes wrong, we might end up trapping you here,” he adds. 

“So let me get this one straight,” Frank says, ignoring him. “For me to get home, we need to get back into Battery City, break into Better Living Industries, fight past thousands of Dracs and into the most highly secured locations inside, and then in there, we’ve got to use machinery which no one really knows how to use and is admittedly unstable and could quite possibly turn me into a human torch if it goes wrong.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Mikey says. “Getting you back is low-priority right now.”

“Mikey!!” Gerard slams his hand on the table.

“Well, he is!!” He looks to Ray for support.

“Actually, I’m more with Gee on this one,” Ray says. He slides away from Mikey, just an inch. “No offence Frank, but the other you – the one who’s from here and been working for Scarecrow for years – would be far more useful right now. You don’t know enough.”

It’s not meant to be an insult but it still stings. Great. He’s useless. Something obviously shows in his expression because under the table, Gerard suddenly grabs Frank’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Plus, if we can get the Frank from here back, he might be able to clear up a few things for us,” Ray adds.

“I’m not risking my life for him-” Mikey begins.

“I did the same for you, Mikeyway,” Gerard suddenly says fiercely. “Pete, remember?”

Mikey folds his arms but says nothing. 

“We’ll get you home, Frank,” Gerard says with a reassuring smile to Frank. “And we’ll get the you from here back safely too.”

~*~*~

Frank makes his excuses and goes back outside. He says he wants some time to properly think things through but more than anything, he really just wants to be alone. He can’t take Gerard right now, he can’t deal with this stranger who keeps showing flashes of his boyfriend.

That, and Mikey is _really_ starting to piss him off. 

“I should be more scared,” he mutters, sitting on the bonnet of the Trans Am. “Be scared, Frank.”

Except he’s not. The idea of finally getting some peace, of finally being settled in one place permanently is far too pleasant a thought. 

He crosses his legs and rests his chin in his hands, staring out into the ruined landscape. 

“Smoke?”

Frank doesn’t bother to verbally answer. Instead, he holds out his hand. 

“Seriously, you’re rubbish at getting hints,” he says, taking the cigarette Gerard’s already lit for him. “I said I wanted to be alone.”

“Oh.” 

Gerard looks so upset that Frank can’t bring himself to be mean. 

“It’s cool. I’m just thinking. Wanna join?”

He feels the car dip slightly as Gerard sits next to him.

“I’m worried about you,” Gerard says without preamble. 

“You think I’m going to fuck up the space-time continuum?” Frank grins. “Relax, I’m enough of a nerd to know not to even bother.” 

Gerard gives him a very stern look. “Do we need to have The Talk?”

“Blah blah, don’t change things, you might make them worse, blah blah –”

“So you actually believe that?” Gerard cuts across Frank’s joking. 

Frank takes a long drag.

“Kinda,” he admits in the exhale before looking straight at Gerard. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna fucking try though.”

For a while, they stare at each other. The afternoon sun turns Gerard’s hair in a firey halo, an angel made of neon. 

“I don’t need anyone to save me, Frank,” he says softly after a long pause. “I got here by myself and it’s not up to you to choose what I do.”

“I wouldn’t –”

“You’d join the rebellion with me? Even though you now know what happens to the first wave?” Gerard asks with a wry smile.

“Well, no... but I could tell you what would happen! I could warn you and –”

“And I’d still join up. I would known what I was getting myself into. It’s worth it – we’ve got to fucking fight this. You gonna stop me?”

Frank looks away, unable to meet Gerard’s eyes anymore.

“Don’t take it so hard. It’s not up to you to save the world... If I were you, I’d worry about saving you first.” 

“I’m fine,” Frank lies. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night.”

“I meant slept _properly_. Where your brain’s shut down and you’re not conscious anymore. Resting and all.”

Frank can’t answer. He honestly doesn’t know. He stares helplessly out into the distance. 

“I’m not tired,” he says instead.

“What did you do two days ago?” Gerard asks.

“I – we went to a club. Me and you. No, wait, that wasn’t two - no, that was me and Ray, we got out of Battery City –”

“That was yesterday.”

“Was it?!” 

It feels like it was years ago.

“You’re not resting, Frankie.” Gerard shuffles closer to Frank and gently pushes a few strands of black hair off his face. 

“I can’t – I can’t shut off,” Frank admits, looking at Gerard. “And... so much... so much has happened. I just want five minutes where I don’t have to be conscious. And... I’m so... I’m so tired of constantly being so scared that it feels _normal_.”

Gerard nods, and then, unexpectedly, he starts to massage Frank’s shoulders. It feels so good, Frank almost cries out in relief. His head rolls back as Gerard shifts himself so that he’s sitting behind Frank with his legs on either side. The warmth in the air is nothing to the heat coming off Gerard’s body behind him and Frank has to remind himself very sternly that this isn’t his boyfriend here, this is Gerard when they’re not together anymore. 

“Frank, when you come back – the you from here – would you remember this?” Gerard asks, his breath tickling Frank’s ear. 

“Well, going on the assumption that there’s only one timeline...”

“So... let’s say you knew this would all happen.” Gerard’s hands move down to Frank’s sides, continuing to gently massage. “The you from here has already lived through this, back when it happened to him in 2011. He’s had to sit back and let all the terrible things happen because he knew that ultimately, it would lead to –”

“To murdering people?! To you getting your mind completely raped?! To losing everything I care about?! Wow, I make some amazing choices in my life...” 

“To this,” Gerard says softly. “To Ray and Mikey finding each other. To me becoming Party Poison and setting up the second rebellion, the Killjoy movement, the thing that’s actually _doing_ something. To you getting out the city. To me and you... sitting right here, right now.” Gerard’s arms snake around Frank’s waist from behind, holding him close. 

“Gee –”

“I don’t think you betrayed us. I think you’ve had to sit back and let a lot of horrible things happen because you knew things would resolve eventually.” Gerard’s teeth catch on Frank’s earlobe, sending shivers down Frank’s spine. 

“You don’t know that for certain–”

“I don’t need to.” He presses a light kiss to Frank’s neck. Frank’s hand grips Gerard’s knee. “You’re not a coward, Frankie. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

“You said I was the most pathetic kind of human there was,” Frank points out.

“I was pissed at you. And I didn’t know that at the time, you were 8 years out of your timeframe,” Gerard shrugs. “And – ” 

Frank twists around and grabs the back of Gerard’s head, kissing him. He doesn’t care that they’re out in the open, completely exposed on the fucking bonnet of a car... Instead, Frank leans in, pressing his body up against Gerard’s, feeling Gerard kiss him back, hesitantly at first and then bites down gently on Frank’s lip, making Frank gasp and he takes advantage of this to slide his tongue inside Frank’s mouth. He tastes the same, he kisses the same here as he did then...

Frank pushes Gerard’s shoulders, forcing him to lie back as Frank manoeuvres himself so that’s he’s above Gerard, straddling his hips, never breaking the kiss. 

“This is really fucking dangerous,” Frank murmurs. 

“We’ll hear if anyone approaches,” Gerard replies into Frank’s lips. His arms are wound loosely behind Frank’s neck.

“I meant if Mikey comes out.” 

Gerard laughs, loud and honking, and so unlike the mocking, self-righteous sneer of Party Poison. Frank presses himself harder against Gerard, wanting to just sink into him there and then and never have to leave him – there’s a small voice in his head that’s triumphantly screaming he’s still Gee – and feeling Gerard’s hard as Gerard automatically rocks his hips up against Frank’s. 

He lets out an irritated mewl when Frank pulls back, instantly tangling his legs up with Frank’s to prevent him from leaving. Frank’s not got any intention of moving from this spot but what he wants to do is slowly unzip Gerard’s Party Poison jacket. Gerard sits up slightly as he shrugs the blue leather off his shoulders. He’s only wearing a simple, baggy black t-shirt underneath with the sleeves cut off –

“Holy shit, you got toned up.”

Frank sits back, tracing a finger down one of Gerard’s muscular arms in awe. Gerard grins, then takes advantage of Frank’s momentarily distraction to pull the hideous mustard t-shirt over his head, throwing it carelessly to the side. Gerard sits up, pressing his lips to Frank’s chest, his breath hot and wet as he deliberately slowly licks the skin, nipping gently with his teeth and sucking. Frank groans and arches into Gerard’s touch, with Gerard gripping the small of his back and making every nerve in Frank’s body scream and sing for more. 

He gasps, forces himself to look down at Gerard. Frank’s still straddling him, sitting on top but with how Gerard’s holding his back in an incredibly possessive way... Frank laces his fingers through Gerard’s red hair, cupping his face with both hands and leans down, kissing him again. Gerard groans and leans up, his fingers digging into the skin on Frank’s back so tightly he’ll leave bruises. They’re both soon rocking against each other, continuing to explore each other’s mouths with Frank on top, Gerard controlling. 

Frank can tell when Gerard’s about to come just from how his breathing picks up; he follows the line of Gerard’s jaw with his lips, not minding the stubble, and bites down on the sensitive skin of Gerard’s neck, sucking gently, tasting the sweat on his skin. Gerard comes with a guttural moan, his entire body tensing up and trembling as he locks Frank in against him, which is all Frank needs to push him over the edge himself. They collapse back against the windscreen, panting heavily.

“I am never going to be able to look at this car in the same way again,” Gerard says after a moment’s pause, making them both laugh. 

Frank rolls off him but tucks in so that’s he’s still pressed up against Gerard’s side as Gerard wraps an arm around him. The metal of the bonnet is slightly hot underneath his skin and Gerard smells really bad – a mix of sweat, dirt and gasoline – but Frank’s in no hurry to move.

Frank grins, nuzzling into Gerard’s side. “Really got a whole new bunch of appreciation for the spider now...” 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me, Frankie.” Gerard gently nudges him.

“Not falling, I swear, I’m awake!”

He’s not lying. He feels wide awake, fully aware of everything around them, of how he can hear Gerard’s heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath...

“Good. You’re a fucking deadweight to move when you’re asleep.” 

“Oi!” Frank pokes Gerard in the side in retaliation, in the exact spot he knows he’s ticklish. 

They remain like that for a while, blissed out and talking about everything and nothing as the sun starts to set. 

“We should go inside,” Gerard says, sounding slightly reluctant. “It get’s dangerous out here at night – not to mention fucking freezing.” He shifts and then groans. “Oh God... next time, the pants come off. We don’t exactly have regular access to laundry here.”

He slides off the bonnet and scoops Frank’s t-shirt off the ground, shaking the dust off it before handing it to him.

“Gee, I know this sounds sappy but I swear, I –”

“Hey, no promises you can’t keep, OK?”

Frank blinks, his fingers curling around the material. “OK. But... just so you know... I’m not leaving you again if I can help it.”

_And I’m going to try. Even if I can’t save you, I’m going to find out exactly what happened... and I’m going to make Better Living Industries pay._

Gerard smiles. “I know.” 

He waits for Frank to pull his top back on, patiently holding his hand out. When Frank takes it, he links their fingers together and with his jacket slung over the other shoulder, they walk back into the diner.


	8. Chapter 8

“You know what I miss?” Mikey says loudly as they enter the diner. “CD players. Or iPods. Or tapes. Or anything that involves blocking sound out.”

Gerard and Frank laugh. They sit down in one of the booths and Ray brings over some tins of chow with some candles lit to replace the dying light outside, and then the four of them sit down for dinner. Ray and Gerard keep cracking jokes and even Mikey manages to stay vaguely friendly towards Frank, miracle beyond all miracles. The food’s disgusting but tonight, it seems bearable in the laughter and candlelight and with Gerard pressed next to his side. 

He could see this being his future. He could see this being some weird domestic bubble, him and Gerard, still together after the world ends. Frank’s so wrapped up in the bubble that he doesn’t register what the low rumbling is outside until Gerard suddenly drops his fork, looking up in alarm. 

“What- what’s that?” Frank asks.

It’s like someone flipped a switch. Immediately, everyone – including Frank - is on their feet, guns drawn.

“That better not be what I think it is,” Mikey says.

“Are we expecting company?!” Frank asks, grabbing one of the homemade hand grenades off the table.

“Quick, car!!” Gerard yells as the unmistakable sound of car engines gets louder. 

“But the stuff – ” Ray starts.

“Leave it!” Frank says, grabbing his arm and running after Gerard and Mikey.

The doors to the diner suddenly blast open and, sending a kick of icy cold horror to Frank’s stomach, Draculoids come running in, the white suits and monster masks suddenly so genuinely terrifying. Frank crashes solidly into Mikey.

“BACK!!” Gerard hollers.

Frank doesn’t stop to think. He’s already got his gun out and there’s gunfire on all sides – he points his white blaster in the right direction and starts firing. His shoulder bashes into Ray’s, Gerard on his other side next to Mikey. There’s Draculoids everywhere, firing as the four outlaws move as one towards the kitchen. 

“Frankie, bomb!!” Gerard yells over the sound of gunfire. 

The grenade is still clutched in Frank’s fingers so tightly he’d forgotten he had it. He pulls the pin and throws it as hard as he can. The gunfire ceases as the Dracs immediately start running for the door and the Killjoys take the moment to run out the opposite back door of the kitchen, just as the bomb goes off with a tremendous explosion that completely obliterates everything inside. 

The desert sun is high in the blue sky, offering no shadows and exposing them completely as more Draculoids come running around the side of the building. The Killjoys are all running for the car when Ray suddenly stops –

“Ray!!” Frank yells.

“Run!!” he shouts, spinning around to face the Dracs, his gun raised.

“NO!” Frank’s about to run back for him when someone seizes him by the back of his neck – Mikey!?

“Keep running, fucker!!”

Frank stumbles, his feet slipping through the desert dust as raygun blasts whizz past his head. The three of them run around the corner of the diner and come face to face with a wall of Draculoids between them and the Trans Am, guns aimed, loaded and ready to fire. From the sounds behind them, Frank already knows it’s hopeless but he raises his gun anyway and starts firing as Gerard and Mikey do the same thing. 

_We can’t win. We can’t win this._

He’s got his back up against Gerard and Mikey as the three of them fire – Frank’s now seeing the Draculoids his shots hit, he’s seeing the bodies hit the ground –

And then he gets blasted in the chest.

He goes down instantly.

For what feels like eternity, he lies in the dust. His breath keeps catching painfully in his chest and everything _hurts_ , he’s not sure if he’s choking on dust or if he’s dying. He can’t move, he can’t speak... all he can do is listen to the sounds of raygun blasters and screams and stare up at the brilliantly blue sky through clouds of desert sand....

There’s deathly silence.

A Drac’s grinning face slides into his vision. 

“Stunners smart, don’t they?” it says, its voice muffled by the mask. “Don’t worry, you’re not dying – _yet_.”

Frank gasps, trying to move but he can’t even close his own mouth. He hiccups, pain shooting through his body with every desperate breath, starting at his chest and blossoming right down to his fingers and toes.

And then, a horribly familiar voice is speaking. 

“Frank Iero, you’re under arrest for several acts of terrorism, not limited to but including passing on classified information to other known terrorists and assisting in the escape of wanted criminals. Anything you do or say now can and will be used against you as you have no rights.”

Deliberately slowly, Korse walks around Frank, staring down at him. The sun behind him throws his features into shadow but Frank can see the sadistic grin.

“Fuck – you,” Frank snarls through gritted teeth. Saliva rolls out his mouth and down the side of his face, mingling with the dirt. 

Korse’s head tilts to the side slightly.

“Tut tut, Iero,” he says.

And then slams his foot down on Frank’s chest. 

Frank can’t even scream. The air is gone and replaced with pain so intense it almost doesn’t register. He’s not even given time to recover before a Draculoid is grabbing his ankles and starts dragging him through the dirt across the ground... and Frank can’t even do anything about it. His entire body is limp, useless. His hands drag behind him, leaving trails in the dirt and his t-shirt rucks up his back, the soft skin scraping against the rough ground, and his head lolls useless to one side...

Against the wall of the diner, a figure with cherry-bomb red hair is slumped on the floor, their bright yellow gun a few feet away and further back, a skinny guy in a red leather jacket sprawled out.

“Oops, almost forgot –“

The Drac drops Frank’s feet unceremoniously to the ground. Another one crouches down next to Frank, presses something to his neck. The needle pierces the skin and the effect is instantaneous. 

Frank shoots bolt upright, screaming. His hand automatically slaps to his neck as he looks back desperately for Gerard and it takes him a second to realise he’s back in his kitchen, his own kitchen, back in 2011, lying on the floor, surrounded by all his notes and an empty bottle of whiskey. 

He scrambles to his feet, stumbling and crashing painfully into the fridge. 

“He can’t be dead, he’s NOT dead!!” he yells. “That’s not fucking _fair!!!_ ” 

He pulls himself back up, clutching the edge of the kitchen counter. His body feels heavy, clumsy, he can’t get it to work properly. 

“I – I have to do something!!” He collapses back to his knees and starts shifting through the papers, desperately trying to find some kind of clue – any kind of clue – something, anything!

“I know I promised I wouldn’t but you can’t expect me to just sit here and wait for the answer to show up!!”

He grabs handfuls of his notes off the floor. For what could be hours, he’s desperately sorting though. Random words leap off the page at him – _**DRACULOIDS.WHITE DREAM. KORSE. DEAD SCENE. PARTY POISON**_ – but nothing makes sense, he can’t focus enough to even read. He throws them to one side, scattering the papers even more. 

“ _What am I supposed to do!?_ ” he wails. “Help me here, Party Poison!! _What do I fucking do?!_ ”

And then, as if right on cue, his phone rings.

Wide eyes staring, he sees the name flash across the screen. 

Bob.

“Hello?” Frank’s voice is shaking. Heck, his entire body is shaking.

“Yo dude, sorry for not replying yesterday,” Bob says. “Been throwing up like mad for the last week, hasn’t been a pretty sight.”

“Oh,” Frank says. He doesn’t know if he can say any more, not without bursting into tears. What the fuck can he do here?! Gerard might be dead for all he knows...

“Yeah, but I’m all better now. Be back next week. So, I’m assuming I didn’t miss anything exciting this week at work?”

Frank takes a deep breath, blinking furiously as he rubs his forehead. “No, no you didn’t miss anything –”

“Are you OK? You sound upset.”

“No, I’m –” Frank chokes. He can’t say the word ‘fine.’ 

And then he actually _does_ choke as strong fingers wrap around his throat and slam him against the wall. 

“Wake up!” snarls a voice. 

He blinks and Korse’s face is directly in front of him. Frank grabs uselessly at the hands around his throat, his strength rapidly fading –

Korse lets him drop to the ground. From the floor, he can see he’s in what looks like a police interrogation room. Everything is white and clinically cold – just from where Frank’s lying, he leaves scuff marks on the spotless floor. Two Dracs stand in the background behind Korse. 

Frank stares at Korse’s boots, gasping for air.

“Where’s – Party Poison?!” he manages to choke out.

Korse says nothing. Instead, he turns around with a noise of disgust and leaves the room.

The two Draculoids gleefully step forward. 

After the first few kicks and stomps, Frank’s not even sure if he’s screaming anymore or just trying not to drown in his own lungs. The walls and floors are covered with colourful splatters of bright red. When he sees the boot come towards his head, he closes his eyes –

And then he’s lying back on the kitchen floor. 

“Frank?! Frank, are you still there?” 

Bob’s voice is coming out tinny speakers somewhere to Frank’s side. Numbly, he gropes around for his phone, his fingers slipping on the lino and then closing around the plastic. He doesn’t have the strength to lift it to his ear. He pulls the phone towards his mouth. 

His face feels hot and damp. He’s not sure if it’s sweat or tears.

“Bob,” he says, sniffing. “I need help. Please – I can’t do this anymore – please - come over.”

~*~*~

It takes a long time to convince Bob he’s not suicidal. It turns out that sobbing down the phone about how you can't take things anymore tends to give off a certain impression that’s rather hard to dispel, particularly when ‘you’ve been acting a bit off for the past few weeks,’ as Bob puts it.

Frank tells him everything instead.

“I’m not making this up!!” 

“I believe _you_ believe it’s real,” Bob says, checking the strength of all the light-fixtures in Frank’s flat.

“Humour me,” Frank says darkly. “Pretend I’m not crazy.”

Bob’s eyebrow goes up. “OK,” he says slowly. 

“How would you help me?” 

Bob shrugs. “Is there anything I can do? If it’s all in the future then there’s nothing we can do here and now.” 

Frank’s about to reply to this excellent display of logic that he _totally didn’t already think of_ when pain stabs through his head and he ends up curling up on the sofa, clutching his head and moaning. 

“Are you hungover?” Bob asks, eyeing the empty whisky bottle. 

“No!” He peers up through the gap in his arms; Bob’s still standing, staring at him, his expression unreadable. “I’m – whatever they’re doing to me there, it’s hurting here!!”

“But it’s just your head,” Bob clarifies.

“Yeah, it’s to do with how the entire travel is a mental thing, not a physical thing.”

“And that’s –”

A wash of pain floods through him and he screws up his eyes. When he opens them, he’s lying on the floor of the interrogation chamber. Korse is kneeling in front of him.

“Where are you going?” Korse asks quietly, tilting his head to one side. He reaches out; his fingers lightly brush through Frank’s hair and Frank closes his eyes at the touch, breathing in deeply through his nose. He doesn’t want to be lying on the floor, curled up like a baby, he wants to be standing or at least on eyelevel. Not this ridiculous, weak, submissive pose. 

“Hmm?” Korse asks.

His fingers suddenly twist in Frank’s hair, yanking him up off the ground. Frank cries out, his entire body protesting and screaming against the pain. 

“You already know!” he yells. 

He crumples on the ground as Korse abruptly lets him go. 

“2011,” Korse says.

Frank nods, his face rubbing against the floor in something wet. He can smell blood. 

“And?”

He honestly doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say.

Korse leans in with that terrifying smile that never reaches his eyes. There are spots of blood lightly splattered across his cheek.

“Tell me... How’s Gerard?” 

“Wha – fuck you!” Frank snarls.

Korse laughs and leans back. His laughter is cold and makes the hairs on the back of Frank’s neck stick up.

“You still think it was chance you were picked for this?” Korse asks. He’s amused. “I really thought you would have figured this out now. Did you honestly think it was chance that you – of all people – ended up in Scarecrow? We’ve always had this planned for you –”

Frank closes his eyes and when he next opens them, he’s back on the sofa. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” he says.

“Bucket?” Bob asks.

“Kitchen.”

Bob disappears and returns a few seconds later with the bucket. Slowly, Frank pushes himself up in a sitting position, clutching the bucket to his chest. He takes deep breaths, willing himself not to throw up. 

“It’s all about Gee,” he says, voicing the thoughts as they come to him. “It’s something to do with him... It wasn’t chance that it was me here in this point in time. They wanted me to do something to him –”

“Who? Those BLI guys?” Bob asks. He crouches down in front of Frank, staring at him intently. 

“Yeah.” Frank nods weakly. “But – it doesn’t make sense. I don’t get what I could have done. I mean, they must have known I’d never try to hurt him –”

Oh. 

“You were going to save him,” Bob says. “And by stopping him from losing his memories –“

“He wouldn’t start up the second rebellion,” Frank finishes. “The one that’s doing a lot more damage.”

It’s so manipulative and so...

“You’ve got to hand it to them, it’s pretty brilliant,” Bob says. “Take the boyfriend of the most dangerous criminals and have him –”

“Yes, I get it!” Frank snaps.

_I think you’ve had to sit back and let a lot of horrible things happen because you knew things would resolve eventually..._

“OK,” Frank says as his head gives another painful stab. “OK. So what do I do now??”

He looks back down at the bucket and then back up to Bob, who’s frowning thoughtfully. 

“Hey wait,” he says, as if it’s just occurring to him. “OK, let’s say the 2019 you went into the machine knowing full well what BLI was planning. He knows they think he’s an idiot who’s going to try and save Gerard in the past, so he plays up to it. He let’s them think that. So... what if it wasn’t a mistake that you ended up there? What if he orchestrated the whole thing?”

“I’m not that smart,” Frank says. 

“You’ve had a few years, you probably wised up a bit. So, say you do set the whole thing up – you’d want to leave a message for yourself. Where would you leave it?”

Frank idly scratches the back of his wrist, looking at the patterns inked on his skin. 

“I have no idea.” His head gives another painful throb. He’s far too alert to go back to sleep. “I need to stay awake there... I keep passing out and coming back here.”

“I am _not_ helping you overdose!” Bob glares.

“I’m not trying to die!! I just need to be unconscious! If the portal’s closed here, I have to stay there.”

“... That’s suicide.”

“For the last time Bob, I’m not suicidal!!”

“No, I mean, it’s a stupid idea – what if you die there while you’re dosed up here? You won’t be able to get back.” 

Frank gulps. He hadn’t thought of that. 

“I – I can’t. It’s already happened.” 

He wishes he could believe it. 

He goes into the kitchen and raids the first-aid kid, finding the pot of pills he needs. Bob snatches it off him before he can get the lid off.

“Hey!” Frank says. 

“You’re absolutely certain about this?” Hesitantly, Bob holds out the pill pot.

“No.” He grabs the pot and quickly shakes out two. “But – I have to go. I can’t leave him.”

Without another word, he claps his hand to his mouth and swallows. The effect is abnormally instant, which probably has more to do with Korse trying to wake him up on the other side –

“Iero!!”

Frank comes back into 2019 just as he’s being slammed into a wall by one of the Draculoids, which is just fucking _typical_. He couldn’t have timed it just two seconds later, could he?

“Ahh, you bitch,” he groans and spits out a mouthful of blood – and then, to his horror, feels one of his teeth come out too. Everything hurts but he’s more awake than he’s ever been and acutely aware of everything around him, of how bright the room is, of how the pretty patterns his blood makes against the white floor, of –

“What’s that noise?” he asks. “It sounds like an alarm.”

The Drac punches him in the face. 

“Hey, question,” Frank burbles. The pills are doing their job – he’s stuck here, fully conscious. “How are you supposed to get any concise answers out of me if I’m severely concussed?”

It’s got to be head trauma talking, he’s sure of it. He’s beyond pain, beyond fear, beyond any of it...

“Smart mouth, Iero,” the Draculoid growls. “You sound just like your pretty boyfriend. You should see what we did to him.”

It’s a bluff. Frank knows it. But that also means... Gerard survived the shoot-out. 

He looks around to see if Korse is betraying any expression and then realises he’s not even in the room anymore.

“You know, you’re not supposed to kill the prisoner,” Frank points out. “Just feel that needs reiterating...”

He gets another punch to the head. Spots explode behind his eyelids.

“So... really,” he says, lifting his head back up. “I’m not impressed boys. _Nul points_ for originality.”

“You’re awfully chatty all of a sudden,” the Drac snarls, his fist raised dangerously.

“Hey hey, wait!” Frank yells. “I used to be like you -”

“You were never one of us!” The other Draculoid actually sounds offended. “”You’re a Zone Rat through and through.”

“Aw thanks, but that’s not what I meant. No, I meant I used to be like you in how I was always asking the wrong questions.”

The Drac holding him by the throat snorts. “‘The wrong questions’? What the hell does that mean? We don’t ask questions –”

“Yeah, see that’s what I mean, and that’s where you’ve gone horribly wrong. Coz you shouldn’t be asking what I’m going on about... you should really be asking what that alarm going off means.”

The two Draculoids look at each other – it’s amazing to see how much panic is conveyed though body language alone – and, as if right on cue, the to the interrogation room is kicked open. Frank’s unceremoniously dropped to the ground as the Dracs go for their guns but the three masked Zone Runners who burst in are quicker. Four raygun blasts and the Dracs are then lying on the ground, not moving.

The biggest Zone Runner immediately heads to Frank helps him up; he pulls up his blue mask, revealing his face.

“Briar Rabbit, at your service,” Bob grins.

“Dude!” Frank throws his arms around him gratefully. “Your timing –”

Back in 2011, after Frank had explained everything up to his point of capture, Bob had simply frowned and asked “This is all set in some future world, right?”

Frank shook his head. 

“It’s _the_ future. It’s going to happen, I can’t change that.”

Bob nodded. “So where am I in all this?”

“I don’t know, probably somewhere in the ci-” He froze. 

No. 

WAIT.

“You’re in the zones!!” he said excitedly. “Gerard said so! He said you’re out in Zone 3 and that you keep yourself to yourself!”

Bob grinned and grabbed a pen and piece of paper from the table. “Sounds about right. OK, so what’s the date where you are now?”

“It’s today, just 2019.”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, scribbling it down. “And you’re in an interrogation cell in BLI?”

“Yeah but I don’t know which one –”

“This Korse guy’s in there with you? With 2 Draculoids?” 

“Yeah but –”

“Great.” He dotted the paper and looked up at Frank. “I’ll come get you.”

“You’ll need help. And I don’t even know where Gerard is –”

“Leave it to me.”

There was something incredibly reassuring in the way he said it. 

“No promises, obviously. If I get shot –”

“Dusted,” Frank automatically corrected. 

Bob laughed. “8 years to see if you’re a raving lunatic or not.”

And now, in 2019, Frank can’t keep the massive grin off his face. 

“Your timing dude,” he beams.

“Yeah well, sorry we’re a bit late – someone failed to mention the integration rooms were on the 18th floor!” says one of the masked guys with a pointed look at Bob.

“This is my crew,” Bob explains quickly, gesturing to the two other guys in the room who are currently stealing the dead Drac’s guns. In the corridor, Frank can see two more standing guard with their guns out. One of them is incredibly short, maybe an inch or two taller than Frank.

Before Frank can say anything else though, Bob’s picked him up and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

“Hey! Ow!!” Frank protests.

“Sorry, but you’re injured. If you’re running, you’ll only slow us down,” the short guy says, sounding far too cheerful. Frank stares at the long, dark tangled mess of hair sticking out the top of the guy’s head, trying to work out if it’s part of the dude’s mask or if’s actually his hair. 

“Here, you can keep the back covered,” another of the guys says, handing Frank one of the guns. 

“OK, we all ready?” Bob asks. “Operation suicide, part 2 – let’s go!” 

They run back out into the corridor to the sound of gunfire.

~*~*~

Frank’s not sure how the fuck they get out of BLI in one piece. Somehow, amidst the raygun blasts and Draculoids everywhere, they manage to get out the front entrance, earning several incredibly surprised looks from the hapless BLI workers they pass on the way out. It probably helps that Bob’s crew are amazing shooters and apparently also clinically insane, running down the corridors with delighted laughter and no regard for safety.

A battered-looking van with a blond woman driving pulls up to the curb as they run out the door (or in Frank’s case – carried out). The side door slides open to reveal Show Pony on the inside, firing a pink blaster at the Dracs chasing, and then Frank’s being thrown into the back of the van and people are clambering on top of him, and the van takes off at top speed.

“Scarecrow Frank!!” Show Pony says delightedly, flipping up his visor and holding out his hand. “You’re alive!”

Frank grins and grips Show Pony’s firm hand as he pulls himself up into a sitting position against the rocking van wall. 

“Just about,” he says. 

“Hey Frank, proper introductions,” Bob says. “This is Shop Soiled, Rainbow Puke, Bird Worm, and Pineapple Lies, and behind the wheel is DJ Hot Chimp.” He nods to each of Frank’s rescuers as he says their names. 

“Nice to finally meet you, dude,” Shop Soiled, the short guy with the hair says. “Briar Rabbit’s been planning this escape for as long as I’ve known him.”

Frank nods. “Have you found the other guys yet?” 

“Yeah – well, we know where they are in BLI,” Bob says, quickly adding “Don’t worry, they’re fine,” when Frank opens his mouth to protest. “Before you go running in as the hero, there’s something you need to see first.”

“What?!” Frank asks, completely lost. The entire van swerves as it turns a sharp corner.

“It’s back at your apartment,” Bob explains.

~*~*~*

“Wouldn’t they have cleared it out by this point?!” Frank asks as him, Bob and Rainbow Puke run up the stairs of his old apartment building. The rest of the crew and Show Pony wait outside in the van. “I mean, traitor to the city here – wouldn’t they have searched my apartment or something?”

Bob shakes his head as they reach Frank’s door. “Why? Everyone keeps their secrets in their heads now.” He pauses, then kicks the front door open.

“You know, there’s probably a spare key under the matt or something,” Frank points out. 

Bob ignores him.

“Wait here,” he says to Rainbow Puke. “Give us a shout if you suspect trouble.”

Frank’s apartment is exactly as he left it; sterile and virtually empty.

“You said you’d left yourself a message,” Bob explains. “You never told me where though. You said you figured it out soon enough.”

“Wha- wait, the me from here said that to you?!”

Bob taps his nose but says nothing. 

Frank looks at the walls, feeling useless.

“OK, so I’m me in 2019. I know that all this is about to happen and I need to leave some kind of message to me that won’t get discovered,” he mutters, looking around. He pulls a hand through his hair, absently trying to think... “A message only I would pick up on... something that could be hidden really easily – OH!!”

He suddenly yanks off the tattered remains of his t-shirt as he realises.

“What are you doing?!” Bob sounds alarmed.

“Tattoos!! I would have tattooed it!!” 

He looks up his arms at the familiar designs, twisting around to see if there’s any new ones. He can’t believe he didn’t pick up on this sooner, it’s so obvious...

“There!” he yells excitedly as he spots it. On his upper right arm, just above his New Jersey anchor tattoo is one he hasn’t seen before. He grips the skin and looks closely at it; it’s a weird smiley face with a zig-zag mouth and one eye crossed out.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes. He looks up at Bob, who’s very clearly trying not to grin. “That- that’s Fun Ghoul’s logo.”

It can’t be. 

_He_ can’t be –

Then again, anything’s fucking possible. Look who Party Poison turned out to be. 

He’s heading for the safe in the bottom drawer before he consciously realises it. 

“I don’t know the combination though!” he says, crouching down next to the drawer and pulling it open. The safe is still in there, nestled amongst the white wood.

Bob peers over his shoulder. 

“Yes you do,” he says. “Think about it. The combination is something important to you.”

_How the fuck do you already know all this??_ he wants to ask, but instead stares at the combination pad. He never did find out what was in the safe and Party Poison – Gerard – never brought it up again.

Frank reaches out and punches in 0409 – Gerard’s birthday. The combination screen goes green, there’s a click and the door swings open.

The first thing Frank spots is the bright green ray gun, resting on top of a pile of carefully folded clothes. He pulls it out, looks at it – it’s the same model as Party Poison’s but the design’s completely different. On one side is a vampire sticker and on the other, the word ‘HORROR’ is stencilled in yellow font, with a white zig-zag running along the bottom side. On the grip is Fun Ghoul’s logo – the same one Frank’s got tattooed on his inner arm. 

He puts the gun down on the ground and shifts through the clothes. Everything’s there, exactly as described in the PP Files; the army vest with the Japanese sun on the back (and the exact same sun that Frank’s had tattooed on his left elbow for years). The black jeans and shoulder holster. The black boots with the red stripes around the rims. The purple Frankenstein mask. Even his very own set of Bad Luck beads, which he quickly pulls on.

“OK, I get it,” he says. 

Bob playfully nudges him. “Took you long enough. Now get dressed, we’ve got to go save some lives and get you home!” 

“Wait, wait, I have to ask.” Frank holds off from pulling on the (his) Fun Ghoul outfit, despite how excited he is to try it on. “Why did you have to me back here and then back to BLI?! Surely you could have just told me ‘By the way dude, you’re Fun Ghoul’?!”

“Supplies,” Bob says simply. He’s carefully tapping parts of the floor with his foot when the floorboard squeaks. He looks at Frank with a triumphant grin on his face. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Frank says. “That’s way too obvious.”

“So obvious no one would think of looking for it.” Bob pulls a switchblade out his back pocket and rams it into the floor, prying the boards up. Frank peers into the impressively-sizable hole.

“Well, Fun Ghoul was an explosives expert. Where do you think he kept his stuff?!” Bob explains. 

Frank’s not sure what’s more disturbing; the fact that he’s had enough dynamite under his living room floor to level the entire building or that the sheer recklessness of it all is just _so fucking cool_.

~*~*~

“So you’ve always known?” Frank asks Bob when they’re in the van and heading back to BLI.

“Known? Fuck dude, I was your main contact! Anyone wanted to talk to you, they had to go through me first,” Bob explains. 

“Oooh, so is that the big top secret thing you’ve been doing that you couldn’t tell us about?” Pineapple Lies asks, looking interested. Bob nods.

“You couldn’t risk running into Mikey or Ray, or... well anyone really, who might have recognised you, even with a mask on. You were far too well known as a member of Scarecrow even though Fun Ghoul’s been active technically since the first wave of the rebellion got shut down.”

Frank gives the army-canvas bag on his shoulder a tug. It’s filled with explosives of varying types and strengths... and it weighs a fucking ton. He makes a mental note to not hold back in using them. 

“You sure I wasn’t too busy being promoted and becoming part of the cooperate Scarecrow?” he asks, unable to keep the bitter tone out his voice. 

Bob snorts. “Sure. And I just _happened_ to meet Mikey Way just after his brother got arrested and he was looking for a way to get him out.”

“Let me guess,” Show Pony says. Under the helmet, Frank can see he’s grinning. “You mentioned that you knew a detonator who knew the layout of Better Living Industries and the city like the back of their own hand.” 

“Bingo.” 

Bob’s entire crew is looking at Frank with expressions mixed from amusement to amazement. 

“Fucking hell Bob, where did you find this crazy motherfucker?!” Shop Soiled asks. From the way it’s said, ‘crazy motherfucker’ is blatantly a compliment. 

“Heads up, we’re almost there,” DJ Hot Chimp suddenly yells from the front of the van. “Get ready to run, it’s gonna be ugly.”

“I doubt they’ll be expecting us to come straight back,” Frank points out. “Nobody would be that stupid. Where are the holding cells anyway?”

“Scarecrow territory. Don’t even think about trying to go out the window this time.” Bob shoots a glare at Shop Soiled, who shrugs innocently.

Frank pulls his green gun out its holster, briefly admiring the paintwork, and tugs down his mask as everyone else in the van does the same. For added measure, he hands out some of the grenades to everybody else. 

“If all else fails, use them as a roadblock when you’re getting out,” Bob says gruffly, slapping Pineapple Lies upside the head when he tries to pull the pin out to use as an earring. 

“Don’t throw them all at once though if you do that, if you’re being chased by a group, take out the one at the front in the middle,” Frank adds.

Show Pony laughs. “You’re a very interesting man, Fun Ghoul. Very... unexpected.” 

Frank’s feeling daring and stupid. “Just got a knack for elimination,” he says with a wink at Pony. Pony looks delighted.

The van screeches to a halt.

“Alright,” Frank says, cocking his gun. “Death or victory.”

Show Pony pulls the door open.

Sure enough, as they’re running back into the main entrance, Frank realises he was right; no one was expecting them to come back today. Bird Worm shoots the nameless BLI worker who’s manning reception before she even has a chance to look up; Frank winces but there’s no time to deal with the morality issue here. He knew full well what he was signing himself up for. 

However, what Frank does take issue with is -

“We’re taking the _lifts?!_ ” he asks incredulously. “What if they cut the cables or something?!” 

“You want to run up 20 flights of steps, be my guest,” Bob says bluntly. “Right now, there’s no alarms going off, which generally means they don’t know we’re here.” 

The lift pings and at that exact moment, an alarm goes off as several Draculoids come sprinting around the corner.

“IN!” Frank yells as the gunfire starts up. He throws a grenade out the doors as Pineapple Lies stabs the button furiously; the doors slide shut, muffling the explosion into a dull thud. 

For a few seconds, the group stare up at the illuminated numbers in silence, with the only noise being the BLI-approved lift music.

“Wow,” Rainbow Puke says, sniffing. “And I thought elevator music from Before was bad.”

“Access denied,” suddenly comes a calm, female voice out the speakers. “Please provide necessary credentials.”

Bob’s already on it. He pulls out a BLI-ID card and swipes it. 

“Access granted. Welcome to Scarecrow, Frank Iero,” says the voice.

Frank gives Bob a look. He’s not sure how much is visible under the mask he’s wearing but Bob seems to get the point.

“What?!” Bob asks. “I figured it would come in handy so I swiped the spare off your table when you were changing.”

The holding cells floor is deserted, which is worrying. For good measure, Frank sticks dynamite in all three lift shafts before running as fast as he can; the stairs might be a bitch but if there’s no one up here, there’s definitely going to be a welcoming committee on the ground. When he voices this, Bob nods. 

“So don’t get cocky,” Bob growls at his crew. 

They locate the holding cells easily enough; helpfully, they’re marked out with directions on the wall.

“It’s like they wanted us to find them,” Shop Soiled mutters.

“Of course they do,” Frank says. “Their trick isn’t keeping you out, it’s locking you in.”

~*~*~

Even without the helpful signs, they wouldn’t have had any problem finding them; Gerard heard the explosions and was already yelling his head off. By the time Frank and Bob’s crew get to the right corridor, Gerard’s screaming nonsensical songs at the top of his lungs.

“Gerard!!” Frank yells, breaking into a run, when Bob grabs him by the scruff of his neck.

“Cool it Scrappy, he’s not alone!” Bob hisses, flattening against the wall.

“Hey motherfucker, pay attention to me!!” they hear Gerard yell. “Your mom pumped me off last week, she’s nifty once you get around the dust mouth!” 

“Why you little -!! Get out here and say that to my face!!” comes an unfamiliar voice. 

Frank grins as he hears Ray’s voice.

“That’s what your mom said last night!” 

Frank peers around the corner. There’s a wall of glass-fronted cells with two Draculoids standing guard; Frank can see Ray and Mikey in individual cells, pressed up against the glass and yelling. The cell at the far side is open and then, much to Frank’s horror, he sees a third Draculoid dragging Gerard out of it by his red hair, with Gerard screaming and kicking the whole way. 

Frank doesn’t even think. He steps around the corner, gun raised and intentionally set from stun to kill. 

The Draculoids don’t even have a chance to reach for their own guns. He doesn’t give them a fair chance. When they’re ghosted, he runs over to where Gerard’s lying on the floor while Bob sets to the key pad that controls Mikey and Ray’s cell doors.

“Oh my God, are you OK?!” Frank cries, checking him over. Gerard’s still wearing his full Party Poison outfit, leather jacket and all (although, obviously, his yellow gun is gone). For some reason, Gerard’s staring at Frank with wide eyes.

“Did they hurt you?” Frank asks, checking Gerard’s face gently but there’s no sign of abuse anywhere. Huh. Guess Scarecrow really only were interested in hurting him...

“You’re –” Gerard says, staring at Frank in complete awe. 

“Yo, Fun Ghoul – can’t get the code,” Bob calls. “Got any C4?”

It takes less than a minute to set up some explosives alongside the glass. Mikey and Ray thankfully have the sense to set up a barricade behind the upturned cots in their cells which come in incredibly useful when Frank hits the detonator and sends glass shards flying everywhere. 

“You alright?” Frank calls out. Gerard’s gripping his arm tightly.

Ray and Mikey cautiously step out the remains of their cells. Like Gerard, they both stare at Frank like he’s the second coming of Jesus or something. 

“Fun Ghoul?!” Mikey gaps, all usual stoicism abandoned. “But you’re dead!! You’re –”

Oh, right. Mask. 

Frank pulls off his mask and grins at Mikey. There’s a noticeable gasp from Gerard. 

“ – fucking kidding me.”

Frank gives him his best shit-eating grin. “Nope.”

Ray laughs triumphantly and punches Frank on the arm. “I _knew_ it!! Frankenstein, you fucker!!”

“Always?!” Mikey asks.

“Always. I told you - I never would have betrayed Gerard like that.”

Gerard’s fingers around Frank’s arm twitch.

“Frank... you’re Fun Ghoul?” he asks faintly.

“I hate to interrupt the love-in,” Bob says, clearing his throat. “But we’ve still got another stop to make in here and time is somewhat of the essence-”

Gerard’s suddenly launches at Frank, kissing him. 

“Or not, you know, whatever,” Bob continues. “Not like there’s a bunch of Drac’s after us.”

Gerard pulls away, his face slightly flushed. Mikey is staring determinedly at the ceiling. 

“You never told me –”

“Yeah, I’m a bit late to the party on this one,” Frank explains. “Bob’s right though – emotional heart-to-hearts later, ok?”

~*~*~

It’s definitely true what they say about strength in numbers; with Mikey, Ray and Gerard added, it brings their total up to nine, which makes getting to Testing Room 6 considerably easier. Much to Frank’s complete and utter irritation, Shop Soiled takes an immediate liking to Gerard.

“Hi, we haven’t been introduced properly,” Shop Soiled says just after the group ghosted a bunch of Draculoids. He turns to Gerard and holds out his hand. “I’m Shop Soiled, and I played a rather large part in your daring rescue.”

Frank doesn’t realise the growl he heard came from his own throat until he saw everyone else stare at him in alarm.

“I – uh – nice to meet you, Shop Soiled. I’m Party Poison,” Gerard says, shooting an uncertain look at Frank before shaking Shop Soiled’s hand. “I’m already kinda with Fun Ghoul.”

Despite the strength in numbers though, it doesn’t mean the machine in there is any less terrifying than it was the first time around though. 

“OK, hop on,” Mikey says, patting the table with an unmistakable air of glee.

“... Do I have to be strapped down again?” 

“Probably.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Frank grumbles as he climbs on the table. Gerard and Ray strap him in. 

“How’s that?” Ray asks, tugging on the straps.

“Bit tighter.” Mikey’s settled himself down at one of the keyboards and is typing at a brilliant speed. “OK, step back –”

The machine hums. The table Frank’s on glides into the tunnel part of it and Frank tries not to struggle too much; he hates small spaces. His breathing echoes around him.

“OK Frank, three, two –” Mikey calls out.

Frank stares at the white plastic above him and gulps. The humming gets louder and he suddenly feels like his head’s been caught in a vice –

And then the table’s sliding back out.

“Frankie?” Gerard looks anxious.

“What the fuck, I’m still here?!” Frank yells, struggling against the straps. “You dickhead, you kept me here!!” 

“Relax.” Even without being able to see him properly, Frank can almost _hear_ the bastard’s eyes roll. “I just set it so that the portal closes the next time you fall asleep here. Last thing we need is the Fun Ghoul from here suddenly showing up and slowing us down.” 

“You could have told me, fucker,” Frank grumbles as Ray and Gerard set to loosening the straps.

“What, and ruin the fun?” Mikey asks. 

Frank sits up and glares at him. 

“If we get out of here in one piece, you and I need to have a very long conversation about your general attitude towards me,” he says, pointing his gun menacingly at Mikey. 

“Later, OK?” Ray says as Gerard helps Frank get off the table. “More pressing matters at hand, got it?”

“Actually, guys –” Frank hesitates. Everyone stops and stares at him. 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Bob says slowly.

“I just – this is all too easy, don’t you think?” Frank says.

No one answers.

“We got lucky,” Shop Soiled says hopefully.

“We got into a secure area and past the guards, left the building and then came back to do it _again_. That’s not lucky; they’re letting us win,” Frank says. “And this isn’t like Korse to stay out the action – where the hell is he hiding?! I – I know I’m not wrong, there’s definitely something nasty waiting for us when we try to get out.” 

“They want you back,” Bob says, clapping him on the shoulder. Frank’s knees buckle under the impact. “Little man with time and space running through his head; you’re valuable.”

“But it’s not happening,” Gerard says, pulling his Party Poison mask down over his face. He smirks, looking more dangerous than ever. “You’re on our team now.”

Frank’s not soothed by the fighting words. If anything, he’s more unsettled. The tech’s not important and neither’s the vortex; after a few mistakes, they’d fixed it so it worked on Frank. They could have used it on anybody. And sure, they made a mistake by leaving it open but that’s nothing they couldn’t have stopped when Frank was unconscious and first dragged in for questioning. 

He can’t shake the thought that it’s not about him, that he’s not the one they want.

Because Frank’s been thinking about this a lot – really thinking about it. And it’s actually painfully obvious. 

The first time Frank ended up in Battery City 2019 was on the same day he met Gerard in 2011. The first time he started to suspect things were wrong with BLI was the same day he met Party Poison. He found out who Party Poison after he’d first had sex with Gerard. 

Better Living Industries would have known about him and Gerard; they’d been living together. And yet, the day after Gerard Way was arrested for taking part in a leading terrorist organisation, his boyfriend got a promotion higher up in the same company Gerard had been trying to take down, which is either incredible stupidity on BLI’s part... or something else much more sinister. 

It’s like all the loose strands have finally connected together to create one giant tapestry with a single message embroidered across the middle. 

None of this was ever about Frank. Everything revolves entirely around Gerard.

~*~*~

They’ve _almost_ made it down to the first floor when the welcoming committee Frank predicted surprises them a whole floor early. Utter chaos reigns and then things are made about ten times simultaneously worse and better when someone – Frank suspects it’s one of Bob’s team – throws a grenade down a corridor which, granted, destroys the vast majority of Draculoids shooting at them, but also blows a hole in the floor and, in the ensuing dust cloud and confusion, the group ends up being completely separated.

Frank grabs Gerard’s hand and runs, with the hand squeezing his tightly, and it’s not until they’ve run down several corridors and away from the bomb site does Frank discover he’s actually grabbed the hand of an equally surprised Draculoid. 

“You’re not Brendon!” the Drac yells as Frank yells “You’re not Gerard!!”

There’s a pause.

“You’re Fun Ghoul,” the Drac says, and he sounds noticeably scared. Maybe it’s his first day?

“Yeah.... Uh... do you, like, wanna just go?” Frank asks, gesturing down a corridor. “I’ll go this way, you go that way, we pretend this never happened?” 

The Drac doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s off running as fast as he can.

Frank doesn’t get much further himself before he runs solidly into Mikey Way. 

“Get up, fucker!” Mikey yells. “They’re chasing us!!”

“What about -”

“He’s fine!! They’ll catch us up, we’ve got to get out!” Mikey ducks as a raygun blast narrowly avoids his ear. 

“This way!” Frank says. “There’s a fire exit nearby!”

They manage to hold off the Dracs as Frank leads the way through the maze of corridors, at least until Frank gets shot in the leg and goes crashing to the ground heavily. He’s still heavily dosed up from the previous batch of no-pain Bob gave him at the flat, but all that means is that he doesn’t realise how badly his leg is hurt until he tries to put his weight on it and promptly goes back down again.

“For fuck’s sake, you useless -!” Mikey’s voice is suddenly in his ear and he’s pulling Frank to his feet, holding him up and dragging him down the corridor. 

Mikey shouldn’t be helping him. Mikey should be running for his own life, saving himself. Frank’s just holding him up, they’re going too slowly. 

“In here!” Frank says, pointing to a door. 

Mikey obeys, kicking the door open and pulling Frank through, before slamming it shut. 

“Frank, this is just a room –”

“Shhh!!” Frank hisses, listening intently. 

He can hear the Draculoids running down the corridor outside. 

“Quick, over to the window,” Frank hisses, trying to walk on one leg as Mikey staggers under his weight. Frank’s never really noticed before but Mikey’s a lot thinner here.

“You’re not serious –”

“This room has the lip of the garage under the window. We can climb down from there.”

Mikey winces as Frank raises his gun and fires two shots at the window. It shatters beautifully and noisily. Somewhere in the sound of glass shattering, Frank swears he hears Bob yelling his name. 

Frank’s about to try and carefully climb out onto the ledge when the door bursts open. Mikey gives him a massive shove. 

It’s over so quickly. One second he’s falling, the next, he’s landed on the pavement. All the air rushes out of him and he can’t get up – 

_Get up, you fucker!! You’re going to die if you stay like this!!_

His body obeys, painfully slow. He’s not dead, nothing’s broken – he crawls to his knees – his fingers reach out and he finds his gun inches from his hand.

There’s more gunshots and then a loud thud as Mikey lands on the sidewalk next to him. He groans and swears, pushing himself up. Frank’s already rolled over onto his back, firing back up at the Draculoids sticking their heads out the remains of the window - 

And then he hears a screech of tires dangerously close to his head, before someone’s pulling him up and dragging him into a van. 

“Go motherfuckers, go!!” Mikey yells, climbing in over Frank. The van’s already roaring to life and moving off at dangerous speeds. Mikey’s leaning out the side of the van, precariously holding on to a strap from the ceiling as he fires. 

“Get in!” Gerard shouts, pulling the sliding door shut with a clang. 

The person who pulled Frank into the van is still sitting behind him. They let out a delighted shriek and Frank realises it’s Show Pony. “We got the full pack of cards!” 

Frank looks up, makes a quick headcount of people in the van. Nine. They all got out. 

“Are they chasing us?” Ray asks. He’s cradling his left wrist in the other hand. If Frank thought it looked bad after the explosion in the tunnel, that’s nothing to how it looks now.

“Frank?” Bob asks.

The entire van shakes as a gunshot ricochets off the side, seemingly in answer.

“Head for the north tunnel,” Frank calls to DJ Hot Chimp. “Remember the plan??”

“Got it!” she nods. 

“There’s a plan?!” Gerard asks.

“Me and Bob left a few surprises for them in the tunnels,” Frank explains, reaching under the bench that Rainbow Puke’s sitting on, carelessly sewing up a wound in Bird Worm’s arm. His fingers close around the plastic detonator he’d left there earlier. 

“Frank!!” Bob says. 

“What??” Frank looks at Bob. 

“What?” Bob asks, looking confused.

“You keep saying my name!” 

“No I don’t,” Bob says slowly.

“Yes you do!”

“Dude, he didn’t say anything,” Mikey says, looking at Frank like he’s losing his mind.

Frank’s eyes widen. He’s running out of time. 

“Gerard,” he says, worried.

“It’s OK, we’re almost there!!” Gerard yells as the van swerves dangerously.

Frank twists to see out the front windscreen; the tunnel is fast approaching. There’s Draculoids stationed at the front but DJ Hot Chimp doesn’t slow down. If anything, she accelerates. There’s a bang and the van jolts over something that’s probably not a speed bump. Shakily, Frank pulls himself to his feet, using the back of the driver’s headrest as a prop. 

“You alright there?” DJ Hot Chimp asks, not taking her eyes off the road. 

“Yeah, just about,” Frank grins. His eyes scan the walls ahead, trying to keep an eye out for the signs. “How many we go in tow?”

“3 cars, 5 bikes.”

“Shit.” 

Draculoids don’t get to drive cars, which means they’ve got at least 3 people from SCARECROW chasing them. Frank glances in the mirror, trying to see if he can recognise any of the drivers (or at least, a certain person) but it’s too dark to see. It doesn’t matter; he knows Korse is in one of them. 

Another shot hit’s the van, making DJ Hot Chimp swerve slightly. 

“Fun Ghoul, twelve o’clock!!” Bob suddenly shouts over the noise. 

Frank looks up and spots it; in luminous green paint is Fun Ghoul’s smiley face logo, spray-painted on the side of the wall. The first sign. 

“That’s more one o’clock!” he says. “Twelve is straight ah-”

“JUST PULL THE PIN, FUCKER!!” Bob yells as the van shoots past the logo.

He does.

There’s a brief second, and then the pig bombs they laid earlier go off. They’re not violent enough to cause the tunnel to cave in, which probably would have resulted in all of them being killed, but they explode in messy clouds of dust and rock that really fuck with the Draculoids on the bikes. 

“Fuckin’ A!!” Rainbow Puke crows, thumping Frank on the back.

Frank looks at the wall of dust behind them. There’s some shapes moving through them, and then two of the cars emerge, windscreen wipers going furiously. 

Ray swears. 

“Relax Jet, Fun Ghoul’s got it all under control,” Bob says. “We got Party Poison coming up at one o’clock.”

“That’s eleven –” Frank begins, but it silenced by Bob’s glare. He waits until they pass the bright orange pill with an X underneath it and presses the detonator again.

There’s another explosion of dust and rocks behind them. This time, only one car comes out. 

“Shit, it’s Korse,” Gerard says, peering out the back windows. 

“You can tell?” Frank asks, surprised.

“That’s his car, bright spark,” Mikey says flatly. 

Frank’s never been much of a petrol head but he probably should have guessed the big boss of Scarecrow would have the most impressive car. 

Gerard suddenly kicks the back doors of the van open, his gun out. The dull noise from outside becomes a full-out roar.

“Gee, no!!” Frank yells, his voice lost amongst the din. He’s already dragging himself to the back of the van, his gun drawn. 

There’s a Draculoid leaning out the passenger window, aiming shots at them. Shop Soiled and Mikey join in, their own guns aimed and firing. Their shots ricochet off the car behind them, briefly illuminating Korse’s furious face. There’s another bump in the road and Gerard nearly gets thrown out the van if Frank didn’t grab him in time.

“Ghoul, ART IS THE WEAPON!!” Bob yells.

“Close the doors!!” Frank screams, reaching wildly as he holds onto the edge of the van. The doors swing dangerously, completely out of his reach, and he can see the road below them, rushing below as a river of gravel. There’s a blast and a flash of white light, and someone – Frank doesn’t see who - flies back into the van. Someone screams. 

Through his hair whipping in his face, Frank sees the words ‘Art is the Weapon’ rush past, sprayed on the wall in bright red paint as the final sign. He presses the detonator even though he knows it’s too late; uselessly, harmlessly, far behind Korse’s, the final pig bomb goes off. Even though they’re not in the worst of it, the fallout’s bad enough that it still reaches them in the open van, sitting targets and unexpected victims of a backfiring bomb. Dust chokes Frank’s throat and scratches his eyes, and he can see Gerard next to him pulling his scarf up over his face, his eyes screwed shut, and Mikey covering his own face with his hands. 

There’s another blast of light and a sharp rush of pain in Frank’s hand that’s holding onto the van. He automatically lets go and there’s a moment where he’s flying – and then someone grabs him around the waist and hauls him back into the van. He collapses heavily on the cold ground, and then he’s aware that he’s screaming, because _his hand is on fucking fire –_

He rolls to the side, cradling his hand to his chest and sees Shop Soiled lying on the floor next to him. His mask is crooked with a blaster burn on one side, his hair’s all over the place and his eyes are wide open. Rainbow Puke is propped against the wall, curled up with his fists in his hair, not even bothering to fight anymore. 

Frank’s not even aware of pulling his own mask off or sitting up. He doesn’t dare look at his own hand, keeping it held against his heart; he only sees a glance of shocking bright red and a strong smell of over-cooked meat. His feet are pointing towards the open door and he realises they’re already out the tunnels with the bright blues and yellows of the Zones at the scenery. Mikey’s taken over Frank’s spot, shooting his own blaster with Gerard, and Korse’s car is still chasing them. Behind him, he can hear Bob and DJ Hot Chimp arguing about which route to take. 

“Stay down,” Show Pony says, pressing his hand to Frank’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

There’s a triumphant cry from Gerard. Frank looks back out the van in time to see the Draculoid tumble out the side of Korse’s car, landing heavily on the road and rolling away out of sight.

“Give it up!” Gerard screams at Korse’s car tauntingly, laughing like a mad man. “You’re outnumbered!”

Frank groans and rolls to the other side, away from Shop Soiled. His unmaimed hand lands on something solid, and - 

All the air rushes out of him. The solid thing next to him is another body, lying face-down on the floor of the van.

Ray. 

“Ray,” Frank croaks. He struggles to sit up, trying to push Show Pony’s hand off his shoulder. 

“Easy, we’re almost safe,” Show Pony says, holding him down.

“But Ray –”

“He’s breathing, it’s OK,” Show Pony says. His voice sounds odd, like he’s got a really thick cold. 

Frank doesn’t know if it’s a lie to placate him or not but he decides to accept it.

“Bob!” Frank says a bit louder. “Stop the van!” 

“What?! Are you crazy?!” Bob yells.

“Stop the van!” Frank says. A surge of strength rushes through him. “Seriously!”

“Are you crazy?! He’ll –”

“He’s by himself and he’s still chasing us,” Frank says, pulling himself up. The fire in his right hand has reduced to a slow burn. “Something’s up.”

“Frankie –” Gerard says.

“Stop the fucking van!!” Frank yells.

The van screeches to a halt. Korse follows suit. 

There’s a tense silence in the stillness as the dust settles. 

“I’m going to talk to him,” Frank says, getting up.

“I’m going with you,” Gerard immediately says.

“No!” Frank says. “He wants you, Gee.”

“Motherfucker, let him,” Gerard says fiercely. 

“No!” Frank says again. “I’m not letting anything happen to you –”

“You can’t even walk, Ghoul,” Mikey says. 

Frank can’t bring himself to look at Ray. He’s not even sure when it happened. He didn’t even notice. 

“Bob? Pony?” Frank asks simply.

~*~*~

Korse is already out of his car, leaning against the door and looking very bored by the time Frank staggers over with Bob and Show Pony holding him up. The van is a few feet away and even though Frank knows everyone in there has their gun trained on Korse for the first sight of trouble, it doesn’t ease the knot of tension in his chest.

Korse doesn’t even have his own gun out. He watches them approach with narrowed eyes, his grey coat flapping in the wind and the light reflecting off his black car, standing out vividly against the warm colours of the Zones. He’s all monochrome in a Technicolor picture. 

“Well well, Fun Ghoul,” he says dryly as they approach. “Back from the dead. What an honour.”

“Yeah, likewise,” Frank grits as Bob tightens his grip under Frank’s arms, adopting a weird monkey-gait to try and walk in time as Show Pony takes tiny steps with his rollerskates. Perhaps he should have picked people who were more his own height to help him walk and wearing proper shoes, then it might not have been so awkward. 

Someone like Shop Soiled. 

Frank sets his jaw and looks at Korse.

“I have to admit, Iero, I underestimated you,” Korse says. “A critical mistake, it’ll never happen again.” 

“Damn straight,” Frank says. He pauses, and then can’t help himself. “Why me??” 

Korse blinks. “You already know that.”

“I’ve got my suspicions. I want to hear you confirm it.”

Korse rolls his eyes. “It’s always been the plan for you. When you were hired by Better Living Industries, we already knew who you were associated with. Your promotion to Scarecrow and your position in the company was never about your skills and abilities. Though I have to admit, we never doubted your loyalty to the company... an oversight on our part.” He shrugs. 

“You fucking mind-wiped my boyfriend and turned my friends against me. How the fuck did you ever think I’d be loyal to you?!” 

“You did the work we asked and produced acceptable results. Don’t act like you’ve never killed a man, Iero. You might have fabricated the evidence for Fun Ghoul’s ‘death’ but there’s plenty of Draculoid’s in Battery City who are there because of you.” 

“And they know, don’t they?” Frank says, feeling a wave of misery wash over him. “That’s why those Draculoids hated me so much. The memory wipes aren’t exact, they get flickers of the past. Drac’s can remember certain things. They know it’s my fault they’re the way they are.” 

Korse’s lip curls up in one corner in a triumphant smirk. 

“Fuck,” Frank hisses. Around his waist, Bob gives him a reassuring squeeze. 

“So, Briar Rabbit,” Korse says, turning to Bob. “I must say, you’re a hard one to pin down. Easier now we know your contacts though.”

Bob snorts. “Go on and fucking try,” he says. “You haven’t caught me yet.”

“And this must be the legendary Show Pony,” Korse says. “Tell me, how’s the good Doctor doing? I believe the last time I saw him -”

“He’s still dancing,” Pony says curtly. Frank feels Show Pony’s grip on his back tighten.

“And don’t change the subject!” Frank snaps as there’s a spike of pain in his hand. 

Korse narrows his eyes and turns back to Frank.

“Project Two-Zero-One-One is a failed experiment, nothing more, nothing less. Now we know the futile nature of time travel –”

“You should have already known you wouldn’t be able to change a fucking thing!! Why would you even try??”

For the first time that Frank’s known him, Korse looks away, out at the horizon of the wasted land. 

“Any alternate is better than what we have now,” he says quietly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Frank really can’t answer that. 

Korse sighs and looks back at Frank. 

“And even if not, we have to protect the city,” he says. “Battery City is the last hope for mankind.” 

“We can’t be the only ones left,” Frank says. “Out of the entire fucking world –”

“We’re not. Better Living Industries has created havens in the main areas where there are still survivors. Each one runs smoothly with minimal resistance.” 

Frank’s mind whirls with the possibilities of cities across the entire world. He tries to imagine a city in England, a city in New Jersey, a city in Japan... there must be people there too who are fighting back. The human race isn’t over. Not yet. There has to be more people out there like Gerard who are escaping, trying to live instead of just survive. 

And suddenly he understands why Better Living Industries was so desperate to see if the time travel would work. If they could neutralise the threats before they even became threats... 

“People like you need to be stopped,” Korse says coldly. “Don’t you understand what you’re doing?” 

“Humanity survived long enough before corporations and medication existed, I think they’d manage well enough without,” Frank says coldly. 

“You say that... This isn’t a game.”

Frank blinks, reigning his focus in. He can’t think about the world right now, it’s too big. It’s not his problem. He only wanted to protect Gerard and his friends, he never wanted to be the savour of the entire fucking human race!

“You want a fight?” Frank snarls, and he’s so suddenly fucking angry. “You hired me with every full intention of manipulating me to work against my friends. You used me. You –”

Bob and Show Pony simultaneously grip him tighter, holding him back. 

“We did what we had to,” Korse says bluntly. “You are one person for the sake of the city. It’s a fair price to pay, I’d wager. Battery City cannot sustain itself if the population starts to think for itself.”

“Well then maybe Battery City needs to die,” Frank says simply.

“You’d destroy the world with that attitude.”

Frank snorts. “Then let’s blow this fucker up.” 

Korse rolls his eyes. “So juvenile.” 

The temptation to stick his tongue out is unbelievable. Instead, he laughs. “Shouldn’t this be the part where you tell me I’m making the wrong choice?”

“You already know you’re making the wrong choice. And I’m tired of this.” 

He’s expecting Korse to ghost him. Instead, Korse shakes his head and turns away.

“Wha – What are you doing?!” Frank blurts out.

“One rogue agent isn’t worth my time,” Korse shrugs. “Especially with the paperwork. You won’t survive a week out in the Zones, and when you come crawling back –”

“That won’t happen.” 

Korse looks bored. “You were never the target, Iero. Don’t flatter yourself; you’re not that important.”

“You’re never going to get Party Poison either,” Frank snaps.

That gets Korse’s attention. He stops. 

“People are already wising up to it. Your ‘oh, let’s save the human race’ bullshit – it’s a fucking lie,” Frank continues. “You say people need the city to survive but it’s not that. Maybe Better Living Industries had good intentions in the beginning but it’s corrupt and mad with power now. If you’re trying to save the fucking human race then _you don’t fucking kill people who are trying to think for themselves._ ”

Korse turns slightly, looking back at Frank out the corner of his eye.

“We can’t take down Better Living Industries by ourselves. Me, Party Poison, Jet Star and Kobra Kid versus BLI? We ain’t gonna win that battle. We know that and you know that. But you know what we can do?” Frank can’t resist pausing and grinning. “We can fucking try. Because sooner or later, someone’s gonna notice.” 

There’s a long silence. The wind blows the dust into tiny swirls around Frank’s boots. He grips tightly to Bob with his free hand. Something drips down his ruined hand off the fingertips, red mixing with the dirt. Korse remains motionless, a lone figure in the desert. He’s got no backup, no weapon... it’d be so easy to ghost him here and now, with his back turned. No one would ever know and they’d get his car out of it.

Frank lifts his chin in defiance of his own thoughts. He won’t. That’s stooping to Better Living Industries level. And anyway, if they kill Korse, someone else will just take his place. He’s just one man to a corporation that has a hundred nameless workers. 

“Keep running, Fun Ghoul,” Korse says, slowly and roughly. His voice carries on the wind. A chill runs down Frank’s spine.

Before Frank can retaliate, Korse gets back in his car and drives away. 

Frank’s not gonna lie; the snub stings. He’s not even important enough to deserve being gunned down in the desert like an animal. 

He watches him drive off into the distance, back towards the city.

“Come on,” Bob says as Korse’s car fades on the horizon. “We need to get back. It’ll be dark soon.”

Frank lets himself be carried back to the van.

~*~*~

They bury Shop Soiled a little way from the road as the sun starts to set. Frank wants to help dig the hole but is assured he’d be more of a hindrance than help. Instead, he sits in the van next to Ray’s unconscious form and Mikey as Show Pony loosely bandages up his hand.

“You’re lucky, they just burnt the skin,” Show Pony says, gently holding Frank’s ruined hand. “We can get you some antibiotics so it won’t get infected and you should be OK.” 

Frank’s pissed, more because he’s now stuck with the word “WEEN” on his surviving knuckles and no way of ever fixing it. 

Show Pony goes on to strap up Mikey’s ankle but Shop Soiled’s crew refuse any medical help.

“We take care of ourselves,” Bird Worm says bluntly, wiping the blood off his face. Pineapple Lies keeps his mask firmly pulled down and Frank pretends not to notice the tears. Gerard and Bob help them dig the hole using scraps of metal from the side of the road. 

“OK, stop, that’s deep enough,” Rainbow Puke says eventually. 

With Pineapple Lie’s help, Bird Worm carries Shop Soiled’s body over to the hole. Show Pony hoists Frank up as Gerard helps his limp over, leaving Ray in the van. DJ Hot Chimp follows mutely behind them.

“Big turn out for his funeral,” Pineapple Lies says when they’re all standing around the hole. “More than his birthday.” 

Rainbow Puke sniggers. “OK. Let’s do this.”

He makes to pick up Shop Soiled when Bob suddenly clears his throat. “Uh, does anyone want to say anything? You know he’d have hated to not have a big fanfare.” 

Bird Worm, Pineapple Lies and Rainbow Puke all chuckle. Frank leans into Show Pony for some support, although he’s not sure how much good that’ll do considering his “crutch” is on rollerskates. 

“Fair enough. OK, I’ll go first.” Rainbow Puke clears his throat. “Bert, you fucker. We lost ourselves a good friend with you. We’ll carry on fighting for you.” 

He nods to Bird Worm, who shakes his head. Instead, Pineapple Lies speaks up. 

“Yeah, we’ve never been big on emotional stuff or speeches. That was more his style of stuff. But we hope you’re in a better place now and we’re glad they never got you.” 

Pineapple Lies looks at Bob who just nods and grunts “Yeah. What he said.”

Show Pony, DJ Hot Chimp, Gerard and Mikey all take turns to say a quick thank you and pay their respects. When it comes to Frank’s turn, his throat feels almost too tight to speak. 

“Thank you,” Frank says eventually. “You saved my ass and we couldn’t have got out of here without you.” 

He wants to say more – he wants to say how sorry he is he got this man killed, this man who’s real name he didn’t even know until after he was dead – but it feels inappropriate. Out here in the Zones, there’s less need for eloquence, especially when the people who really knew him are speaking so bluntly.

“OK, we good?” Pineapple Lies asks. Bird Worm and Rainbow Puke nod. They pick Shop Soiled up by the wrists and ankles and then, with a quick “one, two, three!” swing him unceremoniously into the hole. When the dirt is piled back on top of him, Rainbow Puke places Shop Soiled’s mask on top of the raised mound with surprising care. The burn mark where he got blasted in the face is still there, permanently incorporated into the design as it stares back at the group of people standing around its owner’s grave. 

It’s the most heartless way Frank’s ever seen anyone buried and yet oddly, it’s also the most touching.

~*~*~

DJ Hot Chimp drops Bob and the rest of Shop Soiled’s crew at an old petrol station.

“Keep in touch, Fun Ghoul,” Bob says as Frank throws his arms around Bob’s neck in a massive hug. 

“Thank you,” Frank squeaks. “Seriously, I’ll be thanking you like a lunatic when I get back but seriously –”

“I got it,” Bob says, grinning. “You owe me drinks for the next 7 years, OK?” 

Ray regains consciousness shortly after they leave the petrol station, groaning and swearing as he sits up.

“You’re alive!!” Frank cries, delighted.

“Apparently,” Ray says, wincing. “Fuck, my chest... what the fuck happened??”

“You took a blast to the chest,” Show Pony says. “Fell back and whacked your head. Good thing you just happened to be wearing a deflector under your shirt.”

Gerard stares at Ray in disbelief.

“You were wearing a deflector?! How the fuck did you even get one of those?! Those things weigh a ton!” 

“Yeah, I know,” Ray grimaces. “Fucking thing’s nearly got me killed about fifty times. I traded in some stuff for it a while back.”

“No one wears fucking deflectors, Toro,” Mikey says, looking like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What the fuck is a deflector?!” Frank asks. 

“This,” Ray says, pulling off his t-shirt. He’s wearing what looks like a giant piece of metal strapped to his chest. There’s a giant dent in the centre of it. “BLI came up with a bunch of these a few years back to try and work as bulletproof vests against the blasters but they had to scrap the idea because the only way to properly stop a blaster was to use solid metal that was generally too heavy for practical use.”

“Why the fuck were you wearing that?!” Frank asks. 

Ray laughs as Show Pony helps him lift it off over his head. “A few years ago, you said something to me after a night out and it was so fucking weird that it kinda stuck with me.”

Frank can feel a grin forming on his face. “I didn’t go all Back to the Future on you, did I?” 

Ray laughs, rubbing the area on his chest where there’s already a giant bruise forming. “Ha, no, no letter or anything, you were actually pretty fucking cryptic. You just said ‘Ray, some day, we’re gonna be involved in a shoot-out. You’ll know when; there’ll be a daring rescue, explosions and people are going to die. So for fuck’s sake, make sure you’ve got a bulletproof heart.’ And I discover two days ago that it turns out you’ve been jumping back and forth between here and 2011, and I suddenly realised it might not be a bad idea to actually listen to you.”

When the van pulls up to the deserted diner, the sun’s almost set. Frank keeps his good hand on his gun, half expecting to find a bunch of Draculoids hiding inside. 

“Are you sure it’s safe to go back here?” Frank asks, looking at the ruins of the interior. 

“It’s home,” Gerard says simply, kicking aside some loose wood on the floor.

“Besides, it’s not the first time they’ve raided this place,” Mikey says bluntly, hopping over to one of remaining booths and sitting down delicately in it. Ray slides in next to him, resting his head on Mikey’s shoulder.

“It’s been a long, fucking day,” Ray says, exhausted. 

“You need to stay conscious,” Show Pony says sternly. He pulls off his helmet and gives Ray a hard look. “At least for another hour or so. You’ve had a serious head wound, I’m not letting you sleep yet!!” 

“Thankfully, I know just the thing to keep you awake,” Gerard says with a grin, holding out a broom. 

Frank wants to help but despite being given a new dose of No-Pain, Gerard tells him to sit tight and rest. Show Pony helps out with the clearing up and by the time they’ve finished, the sun’s completely set. Miraculously, the main interior of the diner wasn’t as destroyed as Frank had suspected – a few of the seats were fucked and one of the windows blown out but other than that, it’s still solid. However, DJ Hot Chimp’s long gone with her van and Frank notices how Show Pony peers nervously out at the dark.

“Need to stay?” Frank asks immediately. It’s not his home, so to speak, so maybe it’s not right for him to invite anyone in, but they all seem to be on good terms with Pony anyway. 

Pony smiles, relieved, running a hand through his blue hair. “That’d be swell. You got a spare booth I can crash in?”

“Make yourself at home,” Gerard says. “Anyway, I’m beat, so I think it’s time for bed –”

“Hey,” Pony says suddenly. He points at Frank. “I won’t see you again, will I?” 

“Yes you will, you’ll see him tomorrow,” Mikey says.

“Not _him_ ,” Pony says. “He’ll be back in 2011.”

There’s a collective intake of breath; clearly, this part of the end of the day had slipped Mikey and Ray’s minds. 

“Fuck, that’s right. Dude, that’s so weird,” Ray says. “Do I need to say goodbye or something?”

Frank shrugs. Truth be told, he’s not sure if this is a goodbye. He’ll see Ray again back in 2011 and – if everything’s done right – the 2019 version of Frank, the _right_ Frank, will be back here immediately. 

“Just – go easy on him. He’s been asleep for a few weeks, he might need a bit of a catch-up when he wakes up. Me, I mean. The me from here. Fuck, this is weird!” 

Ray laughs and punches Frank’s arm. “Yeah, I get it.” 

Frank turns to Mikey, who raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ll be nice, if you don’t keep saying ‘I told you so’. Deal?” he says. 

“Deal, Mikey Way,” Frank laughs, shaking Mikey’s hand with his good hand. 

Frank turns to Show Pony, who abruptly hugs him. 

“You haven’t met me yet,” he says in Frank’s ear. When he pulls back, there’s a gleam in his eye. “But... we do meet. 2015. Briefly. I have different hair and you’re a bit fatter.” 

Frank stares at him, not sure what to make of this. “I’ll – I’ll keep an eye out for you.” 

“You do that,” Pony smiles. 

Gerard’s looped an arm under Frank’s armpits and helps him back towards the kitchen, where there’s a mattress set up on the floor in the corner. The door swings shut behind them and suddenly Frank’s painfully aware of how him and Gerard are alone together. He can still faintly hear Ray, Mikey and Show Pony talking at the other end of the diner.

“Yeah, well,” Gerard says, looking slightly embarrassed. “Mikey said if me and you were going to be sharing a bed, there was no fucking way he wanted to be in the same room.” 

“Just remember that door’s not soundproof,” Mikey suddenly yells out.

Frank grins. He leans up and kisses Gerard chastely on the cheek, his stubble rough against Frank’s lips. He’d really like to have one last night of passion or something... but he’s just too fucking tired and sore. He’ll settle for some snuggling and kissing if he can. 

Gerard helps Frank lie down on the bed somewhat awkwardly. Frank has a feeling he’s going to need to fashion up a brace or a crutch at some point in the near future... he just hopes he can remember this in eight years time. Gerard stretches out next to him and for a few minutes, they lie in the darkness together.

“So, this is weird,” Gerard says. 

Relief rushes through Frank that Gerard’s voiced what he’s thinking.

“Yeah, a bit,” he says, laughing. 

“I mean, it’s still going to be you, right? It’s not going to be some weird other-world version of you, is it?” 

“Fuck, I hope not!” Frank says. “I’m kinda looking forward to coming back here and being able to enjoy some more time with you when I’m not bandaged up to –” He freezes as a new, horrifying thought occurs to him. He holds up his bandaged, right hand. “Fuck!! I’m right handed!!” 

Gerard chuckles and wraps an arm around Frank’s waist, nuzzling into his neck. “It’s OK... You’ll heal. Pony said it’s just a flesh wound.”

“Well, yes. Third degree burns but technically just a flesh wound,” Frank says sarcastically. He doesn’t even want to think about how fucked his tattoos are. 

They lapse into comfortable silence again for a bit.

“So... what did Korse say to you?” Gerard asks.

“Various stuff. Mostly things I already knew.”

“Like?”

Frank sighs. “We’re not the good guys, are we?”

“We’re not the bad guys either,” Gerard points out. “There’s no right or wrong answers here. You’ve just got to go with what you think is right.”

“I’m sticking with you. That’ll do for me.”

“Good choice,” Gerard murmurs. 

“Gee –” Frank pauses. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“Hmm?” Frank feels Gerard’s entire body tense up but his voice stays casual. 

“About – about why I ended up here in the first place.”

Frank tells him and he doesn’t hold back. He tells him about how it all first started on the day they first met in Starbucks. He tells him about how his impression of Gerard changed from Douchey Art Boy to seriously-hot-Art Boy. He tells him about the night of Mikey’s first gig. He tells him everything else too, how BLI always planned for Frank to unintentionally sabotage Gerard’s life, how he came to fucking close to actually doing it and how fucking worthless it all was.

“... and it’s always been about _you_ , Gee,” Frank finishes. “You’re so fucking important – you’re like the pin in the grenade that’s the Killjoys verses Battery City or something, and I – I’m just me. Korse could have killed me there and then and he didn’t because it was me and not you! I’m not even the main character in my own fucking story! I’m like fucking Ron Weasley or something. I’m just the useless support cast.”

“Come on Frankie, you know that’s not true,” Gerard says gently. “Besides, being the protagonist kinda sucks. Everyone keeps trying to kill me. But hey, it’s OK and you know why?”

“Why?” Frank asks glumly.

“Because the main love interest in _my_ story is the most awesome of love interests who not only decided to fucking raise an army and storm the big bad’s headquarters just to get me out, but also spent _years_ deceiving everyone so that he could pull it off perfectly.” Gerard pushes a few strands of hair off Frank’s face. “It’s a shame he’s so stupid that he can’t see how great he is, that he’s more than just the supporting cast – If I’m the grenade, you’re the person holding it. I’m the pin, you’re my detonator.”

He pauses.

“And... I kinda lied to you too.”

“What? What about?!”

“When I said I never remembered you,” Gerard says. “The first time I saw you, when those Draculoids were chasing you down... I’d been seeing your face in my dreams for months and I knew your name was Frankie but I didn’t know who you were. I asked Mikey and he’d told me he didn’t know and it was best if I forgot it, but I couldn’t... you were completely there, you know? And then one night, Mikey goes off to liaise with Ray and I had to wait in the car down an alley, out of sight but keep the engine running. So, I’m sitting there when you suddenly go sprinting past and I just knew it was you, I recognised you instantly. I didn’t even think, I just started up the car and started driving and then I saw the Dracs...

“When I realised you were Scarecrow, I thought I’d made the worst mistake of my life or something, because the guy I’d been looking for, I knew he was a good person. And then you left your ID in my car and I realised you were Frank Iero, the guy who’d killed Fun Ghoul but you were also _Frank_ , and I started thinking what if you were the Frankie I was thinking of...”

Gerard laughs. “I got a little bit obsessed with you,” he admits. “And I kept getting all these weird flashbacks... I stopped telling Mikey about them because he really didn’t trust you, but when I asked Ray, he seemed a bit... well, he seemed a bit conflicted about what advice to give! He said you were a complicated man but I should go with what I thought was right.” 

He pauses again. 

“And by the way, I have no idea who Ron Weasley is.” 

“What?! Oh man, do I have a great story to tell you,” Frank says, yawning. “Remind me in the morning to tell you...” 

He blinks, his eyelids heavy... Everything fogs up and then slowly comes back into focus and the room gets lighter...

He blinks again. He’s lying in an unfamiliar room that looks suspiciously like a hospital.

Frank sits bolt upright in the bed. He’s wearing a hospital gown and his right hand is completely unharmed but there’s also a wristband around his wrist with his name and date of birth typed on it.

Horror fills Frank. 

He’s a patient in a hospital. He’s a lunatic. 

“ _I KNEW IT!!_ ” he shrieks. 

“Knew what?!” grumbles a voice.

Frank looks to his left – and in the chair to the side, clearly having just woken up, is Bob Bryar.

“Bob!” Frank cries, surprised. “Am I in the loony bin!?”

Bob blinks and rubs his face. “What?”

“BLI, Scarecrow, Party Poison!!” Frank says. “Was none of it real?!”

“Beats me,” Bob says, yawning. “It hasn’t happened yet.”

“But I – wait, what? What year is it?!”

“It’s 2011,” Bob says. “Incidentally, how were things in 2019? Did it work?”

“Yeah, but – hang on, if I’m not crazy, why am I in hospital?!” 

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Bob explains. “I started to get a bit worried.”

“I was fine! You didn’t need to put me in hospital!!” Frank protests.

“Dude,” Bob says, staring at Frank incredulously. “I don’t care if you were saving the world in a future dimension - You were _unconscious._ And _screaming._ ” 

Frank’s about to retort when the door opens and suddenly, he’s been attacked by something heavy that makes a noise like a dying vulture and smells like coffee, unwashed hair and paint.

“Frankie!!” Gerard squawks, nuzzling into Frank’s neck with his arms thrown around Frank. “You’re alive!!” 

He’s kissing Frank on the cheek as many times as he can, turning Frank’s face into a massive slobberfest.

“Gee –” Frank says, patting his back.

“Oh fuck, right, you’re in hospital!” Gerard pulls back, looking at him alarmed. “Did I hurt you?!”

Frank looks at Gerard. Really looks at him. He takes in Gerard’s black hair that really needs a wash, his round face, his weird, tiny teeth, the stubble on his chin, the few spots dotted here and there, the abnormally pale skin and how his hazel eyes are sparkling and entirely focused on Frank. 

Frank doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, he grabs Gerard by the front of his shirt and kisses him.


	9. Chapter 9

One week later, and Frank finds himself sitting back where this entire mess started; Starbucks. He’s got one of the nice sofas and a table to himself with a newspaper open and a red pen in his hand as he circles potential adverts.

The door opens and Frank automatically looks up to see Bob walk in. He waves to Bob and then goes back to his search while he waits for Bob to get his coffee and join him.

“Job listings?” Bob asks when he sits down with a giant steaming mug of -

“Are you drinking tea?!” Frank asks in disbelief as the smell reaches his nostrils.

“What?! Not all of us can consume coffee like water without horrific side effects, unlike you and Gerard.” 

“Yeah but... Earl Grey?! Really?” 

“It’s a delicacy,” Bob sniffs, taking a sip. 

Frank grins. “You’ll want to stock up on that; I never once saw anyone with a teabag out in the Zones.”

“I’ll remember that,” Bob says dryly. “You know I’m still not a hundred convinced you’re not a raving lunatic.” 

Frank smiles softly and takes a sip of his own coffee. 

“Speaking of,” Bob says, putting down his mug and looking at Frank with a serious expression. “How are things with all that?”

He doesn’t need to clarify what he means by ‘all that.’

“Yeah, I’m good,” Frank says. “I slept for, like, twelve hours after I got out the hospital and woke up still here!” 

He doesn’t tell Bob that he was so scared of going to sleep that night that he had a full-blown panic attack and ended up scaring the shit out of Gerard in the process too. Gerard had insisted on Frank staying at his that night; the official explanation for Frank’s hospital stay had been that he’d been having trouble sleeping, realised he’d accidentally taken too many sleeping pills and called Bob. Gerard said that he was determined to take care of Frank, but Frank suspected that there was that darker thought on everyone’s minds that the ‘overdose’ might not have been entirely an accident.

Gerard had done the best he could that night and tried to comfort Frank but there was no way that Frank could ever explain why he was so scared to fall asleep – what if it didn’t work? What if he woke up back in 2019? What if something had gone wrong and the 2019 Frank had ended up a vegetable?? Worse still, due to his apparent “accidental overdose” he wasn’t allowed to take any kind of narcoleptics on doctor’s orders and what with the whole ‘recovering alcoholic’ thing on Gerard’s part, Frank just didn’t feel comfortable drinking himself into an early coma. 

Eventually, Gerard had curled himself around Frank and tried to soothe him to sleep, wiping away the tears and whispering comforting words and somehow, it eventually worked because the next thing Frank knew, he was waking up... and he was still in Gerard’s bed with Gerard snoring softly in his ear, and he actually felt like he’d actually slept. 

And that was it.

Frank refused to let himself dwell on how things were between Fun Ghoul and Party Poison. If the portal had closed successfully, then they’d be fine. They had each other now. 

And that was all Frank would let himself think on the matter. 

Meanwhile, the conversation Frank and Gerard had the following morning in 2011 hadn’t been particularly fun either.

“Look, Frank, I get that you keep a lot of what you’re feeling bottled up but I’m worried about you,” Gerard said. “Something is clearly wrong and I just want you to fucking talk to me about it, because, seriously, I don’t know what to do or how to help you.”

He linked his fingers through Frank’s and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Much to Frank’s complete and utter surprise, he ended up talking about things that he hadn’t even realised were bothering him. They were inane, stupid, trivial things focused entirely in 2011 that had been completely overshadowed by everything that had happened in 2019, such as how he was turning 30 and his life had reached that kind of stagnant point, how he hated his job and he needed to do something to change it up, and also the entirely overwhelming realisation that things with Gerard were actually his first proper relationship with someone in several years and had the potential to become quite serious. 

Overall, he’d been alone for so long that he’d gotten used to dealing with things by himself. He wasn’t used to sharing his problems with people or having someone else in his life who wanted to take an active role in all aspects of it. It was scary and at the same time, exhilarating. 

“Me and Gerard are actually going away on a trip,” Frank says to Bob with a grin. “Just a week away or something, somewhere really lame and stupid – we’re thinking Disneyland. And then, when we get back, I’m going to start the job hunt.”

“Work sucks since you left,” Bob says and he sounds like he actually means it. “I might just join you on the new job thing. Is that what you’re looking at?” He gestures to the paper on the table with various sections of print circled in red.

“Apartments,” Frank says.

“You’re moving? Are you and Gerard getting a place or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that... I just need a change of scenery, you know?”

He doesn’t say that he can’t stand his own apartment anymore as it reminds him too much of Better Living Industries. 

Bob peers at Frank. 

“You’re not OK,” he says after a second.

Frank shakes his head. “Not at the moment. But I’m getting there.”

“Frank –”

“No,” Frank says firmly. 

He’s got so much to plan, so much to do. He’s going to have to lie to a lot of people and there’s so many horrific things he’s going to have to let happen because if he doesn’t – 

The door to Starbucks opens again, bring Frank out of his thoughts. Him and Bob both look to the door to see Gerard breezing over, a giant grin on his face.

“Frank!!” he says happily, making a direct beeline for their table. He takes a large mouthful of Frank’s coffee before giving Frank a quick peck on the lips. “Hey Bob,” he adds as an afterthought.

Bob grunts a hello. 

“How’s the search go?” Gerard asks, sitting down on the sofa next to Frank and picking up Frank’s coffee like it’s his own.

“OK so far. Nothing’s really screaming out to me,” he says with a heavy sigh.

Gerard grins. “Well, you’re in luck because I happen to know of an awesome place that you just might be interested in.”

“Really?” Frank asks, his interest perked. 

“Yeah!” He rattles off an address.

Bob stares at Gerard suspiciously. “I know that area. Frank can’t afford that kind of price range, not by himself.”

“Yeah, he’d have two housemates if he took the place,” Gerard continues. He’s bouncing in his seat excitedly. “But it’s this gorgeous huge old house, he’d even have his own room and bathroom. The room in question may need a bit of clearing out as one of the guys living there decided to fill it with bits of broken computers but I’m sure that’d be done easily enough.”

“Housemates, huh?” Frank says, pretending to think about it. “What are they like?”

“They’re two brothers,” Gerard answers, holding up two fingers to emphasise his point. “One’s in a band and does stuff with computers and the other is this really awesome graphic artist who’s totally crazy about you and loves to give blow jobs in the morning.”

Bob chokes on a mouthful of tea and ends up spitting it across the table. 

“You know, most people just ask ‘would you like to move in with me’,” he grumbles, wiping his mouth as Frank bursts out laughing. 

“So?” Gerard asks, beaming excitedly. “What do you say?” 

Frank grins. 

 

That’s one alternate. But what’s to stop him from trying? 

Nothing, that’s what. 

The future hasn’t happened yet. He’s made mistakes in one future’s past, but who says he has to repeat them? 

He’s got a pile of notes about a dystopian future, one hell of a plot and his boyfriend’s got contacts in the publishing industry; there’s got to be something he can use there. He’ll have to be very careful but he’s not going to sit back and just passively let the world go to shit around him. Fun Ghoul wouldn’t, and Party Poison sure as hell wouldn’t. 

He rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder as Gerard wraps an arm around him. Across the table, Bob’s grinning and shaking his head at them.

Maybe... just maybe. 

And even if not, there’s no harm in brushing up on his knowledge on explosives.

_I’d rather go to Hell than be in Purgatory. Cut my hair, gag and bore me. Pull this pin, let this world explode._


End file.
